


Spider and the Fly

by CatLadyInTraining



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Adventure, Angst, F/M, Fluff, In Character, Original Character(s), Original Female Character - Freeform, Porn With Plot, Romance, Slow Romance, Smut, slowburn, vice city
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2019-06-01 18:34:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 26,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15149324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatLadyInTraining/pseuds/CatLadyInTraining
Summary: It was a pleasure beyond her control.Kamaria Leons had found the one thing she craved more than drugs, sex, and alcohol, the feeling of adrenaline rushing in her system after a race, the burn of stealing jewels and money, the craving of loving a man too dangerous for her own good.After a lifetime of foolish fun in Vice City, Kamaria must search out a new hobby far away from her childhood home. So when given to the choice of leaving or a possible manhunt, Kam takes the better answer and heads to Los Santos: the only other place where drugs, murder, and all the chaos she loved could be done once again.It was supposed to be like the old days, get away with crimes, have sex with strangers, leave no trace behind, but that idea is torn when she meets up with an old friend who wants something in return. Her wicked ways caught up with her, and as all things do, being evil has a price.Yet, even with horns like the devil, she is nothing more than a naive moth to a burning flame when it comes to things she loves.Trevor Phillips sees the darkness in her beauty, and she sees the beauty in his darkness.It’s only a matter of time before someone ends up dead.





	1. Prologue

**“FOR FUCK’S SAKE,” the man’s hoarse voice caused Kamaria to roll her eyes as she stepped over the third corpse on the floor.** The young man looked no older than twenty-five, but the needle marks running along his arm said he lived a much more exciting life than a normal, run-of-the-mill desk job you see most young interns having. He seemed to still be breathing, barely holding on his last breaths like a tax-collector holds gold-struggling. A small puddle of blood began to form around his nose, spilling from his lips, and clotting near the open bullet hole in his chest. His bloodshot eyes were still open, almost staring into Kam’s soul as she barely missed the gleaming red about to hit her shoes.

The whole warehouse could hear her fingers hitting the gunner’s face, all her men staring from various locations. The sniper she had hired was incompetent from what she could see, yet he still kept his demeanor in check.

“I told you not to kill them,” she hissed, her words so clear you could have bottled it. Kamaria’s eyes glowered into a deathly stare, never leaving their target as her gunman stepped back a few inches. He was obviously scared, he knew what he had done, he knew what was expected from him from the woman in front of her, but he clearly fucked up, and it was going to end up badly. “I hired you for one reason, to intimidate. If I wanted someone dead I would have given the job to someone better.” She snapped the gun out of his hands, watching his usual calm self cowering under her feet. He was nothing more than a little roach,snivelinging child who babbled too much, an incompetent man who couldn’t do a _fucking_ job.

“He wouldn't have given me the cash,” he remarked, gulping as Kam gripped his wrist tightly. Her knuckles turned a ghostly white, while the man’s hand turned a sickly purple. Any longer and the nerves would begin to damage.

“Choose your next words wisely gunman.”

“He threatened you. He wouldn't have given the money unless he either saw you personally or it was forced. I didn’t think you’d show, I’m _sorry_.”

Kam let go of her grip, and for once the gunman was at ease. He blew a heavy breath, wiping his sweaty brow, and stared at the shorter woman. Kam’s blue eyes were slowly becoming friendlier, a smile forming at her cheeks. She no longer appeared to be the mass murderer the company knew her as, but it was a mistake to see her as anything other than that.

She lured them like flies, falling into her web of crime and murder.

Kamaria held her breath, a sickening thought in her head. “Then I guess you’re no longer needed.”

With her last word falling from her tongue, the barrel pressed against his throat and she shot. Blood splattered on her face, some flesh falling from her olive-toned skin, the body falling with a thump at her feet. After blinking a few moments, and wiping the spatter from her mouth, she gave a few more looks to her other workers, and set off back to her car.

Behind her, she could hear her employees hurriedly cleaning the evidence, the rustling of bags, the soon-to-be odor ready to commence from the floors. If they didn’t want to be the next body thrown in the ocean, they worked their asses off.

From the entrance of the warehouse, she could already see the duffle bags of money loaded in her car, many filled to the brim for an exchange of sweet angel dust and delicious candy her company was widely known for.  

She fit into her leather seat, her hand running along the zippers, and opening it to the piles of green that smelt of vacations and cars. The money felt like home under her fingertips as she slowly counted.

Kamaria’s driver finally started the car and began his business of taking her home, all while she counted her well-earned cash. The lighted city around her was nothing compared to the danger and rush she was feeling right then.

 _I just killed someone_ . It caused a giggle to rupture from her throat. _The cops will be after you_ . A rush of adrenaline shot through her system, _let them try_.

“Will you be staying home tonight?” Her driver asked, breaking through Kam’s thoughts of smuggling more drugs and exciting police chases. She was obviously off her rocker that night, but she didn’t care. She was getting away with not only a successful drug exchange, at least from her greedy side thought, and a pointless murder, she could say she was living the life she dreamed of with her brother.

“Tonight?” She pondered that thought for a moment, the money still in her hands. “I think that would be a rather bland idea. I might go to the bar at the beach, celebrate a little after tonight.”

Her driver nodded.

From the rear-view mirror, Kam slowly washed away the blood from her face with her shirt, clearing off the splatter, guts, and foundation. Her small, little heart that was tattooed on her cheek was beginning to reappear, and she smiled.

“Also,” She stood from her seat, getting fairly close to the drivers side. Benjamin, her driver, was a standard Vice City man of average build, no personality, and everything a respectable human being should be. _Boring_.

She decided to have a little more fun that night.

Her hand expertly traced itself over his silky suit, running down his shoulder, across his blades, and finding them close to his neck. Her fingers crossed themselves around his muscles, finally stopping near the buttons of his white top. One finger popped it off, and her hand slipped inside. Kam curved her fingers around his nipples and lined his chest with her nails, from the corner of her eye, she could see him grow hard as she continued.

She leaned into his ear, a mischievous smile spreading on her lips, “this is for you.” Her other hand still filled with cash came forward, throwing it in the passenger seat. “Keep quiet about tonight and I’ll make your life heaven.”

The car stopped, and Kam leaned back into her seat, already beginning to unbutton her bloodstained shirt. As her third button came off, Benjamin pulled a gun.

_Shit._

The pistol’s barrel was right at her forehead, the cold metal indenting a print into her skin. She scowled, then laughed, and proceed to continue undoing her shirt.

“Please, what are you going to do?” She cooed, still maintaining a playful manner, “kill me?”

Benjamin pulled out a badge, _FIB_.

 _Fuck me_.

She’d been had. She should have known, should have killed him when she knew she could. Now she was facing the danger of life imprisonment, or worse.

Her body shook from the thought.

“C’mon,” Kamaria slowly recomposed herself, focusing on the thought of still trying to get away with it. Benjamin was like the rest of her men when it came down to it, a man with the desire to be pleasured by a beautiful woman. Kam had the looks, she knew what he liked. It's why she choose them the way she did. Any manipulative man was going to work for her, because she knew she can make them do whatever she wanted.

Benjamin was no different.

She smirked as she slowly continued unbuttoning the last few off her shirt, her lovely pushup coming into view. He was at a lost for words as she felt herself, lining every bump and curve she had. “You want to kill the buzz that early?”

“It’s my job to find criminals.”

She slipped her finger in her mouth, licking it quietly as she continued tracing down her body with the other. The rush was beginning to slowly build back up again, but this time on convincing an agent to let her go. So with the thought on her mind, her fingers slowly went down between her thighs, a sweet noise escaping her red-painted lips the moment she did.

“Are you sure?” She gasped, continuing her naughty habit.

Benjamin shook his head, his hand shaking as he processed his choices. He was staring at Kam, playfully pleasing herself as she stared at him. He didn’t know what to do, she wanted him from the way she gazed at him, but she was a full-time criminal, only looking to find the next poor sap to kill.

“Please, just for me?”

The gun dropped, and the moment it did, it was all over.

Kamaria quickly grabbed the pistol, aimed it as his head, and shot him in between his brows. He was dead before she even heard it go off.

She killed another human being, and this time it was a cop. He wasn’t a lowlife thug who nobody cared about, he was an agent of the FIB, a possibly valued individual with a complete life she knew nothing about. If the cops weren’t coming after her before, now they would.

Yet, all she could do was stare, watching his blood slowly drip from his head.

Kamaria would have been lying if she said she felt guilty. She felt empty, like killing was an easy thing for her. The sad thing, it was.

Her eyes narrowed in on the bullet hole, and finally, the circumstances hit her. They’d be after her, no joking about that. Cops will be swarming around the bay area in no time if she didn’t book it quick. Someone must have heard that gunshot, and it would only be a matter of time before they realize they’d be looking for a female.

That thought caused a laugh. Officers arresting her, taking her into their little prison cells until someone paid her bail. Even with this newfound excitement, her buzz was gone. She could feel it in her blood that she was gaining a conscious once more, but she needed it.

She grabbed her phone, dialed a specific number, and spoke as quickly as possible. “Samuel, I have another one,” _fifteen seconds Kamaria._ “I need a plane ticket out of Vice for a while.”

And she shut her phone, still staring at the body in front of her.

 

 


	2. The Hacker

**LOS SANTOS was the golden city with never ending parties, beautiful cars, and unlimited access to drugs, sex, and alcohol.** No matter where you lived there was excitement rolling in the air, electrifying any passing tourist coming along, suffocating them out of their money and energy. It was a city where you could be anything you wanted, and no one could tell you otherwise.

On the other side, past the men in expensive suits and bejeweled woman, Los Santos held some secrets of it’s own. The place where woman produced, men worked, some stole, where everyone had to make a living out nothing. Where garages held whole familes, cars stolen to sell, and where a crew of bank robbers were beginning their next big thing.

Lester Crest was issuing out yet another heist to his familiar band of boys. His cork board filled with photos, plans, people, and places that kept the attention of all who entered his home. The thump of his cane against the hardwood floors was the only sound to be heard other than breathing and his careful speech, but the boys didn’t care, they were learning from Lester’s intriguing instructions.

“Now we have a few options as usual,” he moved to the side, took a deep breath, and continued, “we can steal the armoured trucks underneath the bridge and disarm them, or we attack in plain sight, a few miles out from the bank. Either option will include, danger, the risk of being caught, and some preplanned supplies we’d need to get beforehand.”

“Okay,” Michael De Santa looked across his board, picking out the smallest details that stuck out to him. He felt at peace for a moment, feeling like he was back a decade ago, only starting his career in stealing. No wife, no kids, nothing that held him back. He loved them, yes, but old habits seemed to die hard. “Well, we can go at them plain sight. If we catched them far enough we’ll be able to run in and out before they knew what hit them.”

Lester nodded, “you’re going to need a getaway driver for the others once you get the cash and the truck. Also, the route they usually take are littered with security cameras. I’ve been trying to get into them lately, but my skill isn’t up to par. You’ll also need someone to take out the cameras for a small period of time.”

“Driver and hacker? Sounds easy to me.” 

“Sounds easy, but it isn’t easy. The only hacker I’ve tracked down lately works with someone you don’t want to meet.”

“Who?”

Franklin, Trevor, and Michael all listened to Lester take in another deep breath, “she’s not important, just-”

Trevor stood up first, his sudden approach making Michael jump, “if you say we need a hacker, we’re getting a  _ fucking  _ hacker Lester. You keepin’ secrets from us now?”

“C’mon Lester,” Franklin urged on, “just tell us. It can’t be  _ that _ bad.”

“She’s this woman from Vice City, your typical cartel, mafia, crazy son-of-a-bitch runner who’ll kill you before the hour’s over. I used to know her before, but I doubt she’ll want to still help me now. If anything she’ll want us all dead because we know her identity.”

Michael shrugged, “so we’ll just convince her. Money speaks to everyone, Lester. If she’s the type of woman we think she is with the right price she might do anything. Besides, what choice do we have?”

Lester shook his head in disbelief, completely unsure if he’d let them get into that kind of trouble. Yes, they needed a hacker, and a good one at that if they wanted to be successful.  _ She _ didn’t run around with any kind of person, she ran with those she could use, those that were  _ good _ . The certain person they needed. However, she also had a pretty nasty record of shooting you in the back once she got the cash. Why would she settle for a certain part of the cut when she can kill you for the other half?

“I’ll look more into it.” Lester sighed, “but if I find someone else, just know I’ll recommended them before hers. If you do go for her don’t trust anything she sees no matter how convincing she sounds.”

The other two exited the house the moment Lester let them go, but Michael stayed behind. As usual, every pro and con was circling in his head, but the cons seemed to outweigh the pros in that situation.

“Lester, we both know we won’t find another hacker in time. Trevor won’t wait.”

“I know.”

Lester finally shooed Michael away to the others, where Franklin was preparing to leave on his motorcycle, and Trevor leaning against his old truck. They both seemed tired, no less from the FIB cases they had been getting involved in lately. Steve Haines wanted them to be his mindless minions, doing anything he asked for no matter how awful it sounded. The torture, the assassinations, the full knowledge of knowing they couldn’t do anything about it.

“We need that hacker.”

Michael turned to Trevor, who was now starting up his truck and preparing to leave. He seemed lost in his own world for a moment, before his gaze hit back to Michael.

“I never said we didn’t.”

“I know Mikey, but if we don’t do this soon, this whole thing can blow up before we even start. Who’s to say the FIB will stop us from doing that too? When will they put us into prison because we finished their dirty work?”

Franklin nodded from the back, “just do what you need to do Michael. Just give us a call when you figure it out.”

That was the only thing on Michael’s mind as he drove home. The pressure was on his shoulder. The boys would want that woman’s help, Lester would silently disapprove. His life could literally be in that woman’s hands, but they couldn’t wait any longer than a few days. Mindless thoughts kept sweeping through his head throughout the night, but it always lead to saying yes to whoever Lester specifically did not want have be involved.

“Dammit,” he muttered under his breath.

  


**ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE CITY, Kamaria was enjoying a cold pina colada that had her name written all over it.** The cold slush hit just the right spot underneath the Los Santos sun, and it seemed nothing could damper her chipper mood. She was exactly where she wanted to be at that moment.

Lying on a lounge chair was what most people did on lazy Saturday afternoons, but for Kamaria, it was one of the few times in her life that wasn’t bombarded with blood, murder, and attempted assassinations from her Columbian competitors. From what she had been hearing, her cocaine business was doing excellent with foreign dealers, but the Columbian cartel seemed a little too eager in taking out the competition.

She may have missed Vice City, but in Los Santos, she was far away from the feds, her people, and everyone that wanted her dead. Kamaria could start at the beginning again, but this time, she wasn’t going to allow any mistakes to happen.

Her first mistake in Los Santos was already taken care off, call it self defense, call it murder, but the cops wouldn’t even find the body if they tried. Poor little boy, messed with the wrong woman that’s for sure.

Just as she was about to take another drink, her phone rang on the other side of her. The usual ringtone of Samuel breaking through the otherwise quiet beachside shore.

“Hello?” She sang as she pressed call, listening to the shuffling in the background, the voices of various people, even hearing the buzz of Samuel’s computer on the other side of the line. “Cobra, I’m not going to stay on hold all day.”

Finally Samuel came on the other side, “sorry, there was just a small mix up of orders, but that’s not important. What’s important is something else.”

“Well?”

“Someone from Los Santos called for you.”

“For me?” She laughed, “I’m been keeping track of my ties here, nobody knows I live here besides you, two others, and the person I bought the house from. Trust me,  _ no one _ else knows.”

“Well,” Samuel went quiet, which had Kamaria slam her drink down on the table, nearly shattering the handle of the glass. Underneath her sunglasses her eyes went cold as ice. If Samuel was there in person, she couldn’t say what she would have done to him. 

“Speak dammit, if I have to take a plane to Vice Ci-”

“He said he used to know you, some guy named Lester. Lester Creek or some bullshit like that, said he used to work well with your brother before he was killed. He wanted to know if you were up to speaking to him.”

“Speaking to him? For what?”

She could just imagine Samuel shrugging on the other side, the screen of his computer glaring on his skin, his fingers typing on the keyboard. She could even see his nervous foot tapping underneath his desk, all just by the unnerved wave staining his vocal chords.  _ Oh, Samuel, if I could only strangle your vocal chords right now _ .

“I’m not sure, he didn’t go into too much detail when he called. Just said some deal “your brother” would be apart in.”

“That’s it?”

“And if you’re willing to take the chance, to meet them at Ollie’s Bar at six tomorrow night. From where you live it’s not that far. Supposed to be on the beach, well populated, but you shouldn’t risk it. Not now.”

“Lester Crest  _ was _ an old friend.”

“So you do know him?”

“Listen, if he calls again tell him  _ I _ don’t work for people, they work for  _ me. _ ”

With that last sentence still lingering in the air, she hung up and tossed the phone on the table, now upset from the circumstances presented to her. Why would Lester call from out of the blue?

The idea of being back in the game was fueling her adrenaline junkie side, but she knew better than to rush in so fast. This is exactly what got her in trouble before, why she was in Los Santos in the first place, but still, the danger called to her all over again.

No amount of drugs felt the same like pulling off criminal acts.

Lester Crest was the brains in every operation her brother had been in, but he liked crews. Kamaria worked by herself. So why would he call her of all people?

That thought alone intrigued her.

She knew better, but that was the crazy thought. With a little help she could be safe. So with her own thoughts buzzing in her crazy, fucked up head, Kamaria calculated all the ways she could still make it out on top.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So do you guys like it so far? I'm a slut for comments so please tell me what you guys like about it/ what you didn't like, you know, all that jazz. 
> 
> As always thank you for reading! I'll see ya in the next chapter.


	3. The Bargain

If there was one thing that calmed Kamaria more than alcohol, it was driving too fast down desert highways. There was nothing like the rush of cooling air blowing through her hair, the sounds of her tires drifting across the loose dirt, or the complete lack of caring if someone caught her in the middle of nowhere. She was free in the night, but the one thing that stopped her was the hard halt of someone stepping in front of her car.

The dust particles whirled around her Mustang as she quickly sprang to a sudden stop. She wasn’t against a hit or run, but the real heartbreaker would have been the damage to her new car. There was nowhere else in Los Santos where you could just buy a 1964 mustang, it was a prize she had found in the depths of a car garage, obviously someone’s pride and joy.

However, the man in front of her was still lost in a shocked daze. His eyes were focused in on the hood of the car, breathing heavily as he turned to the lunatic driver inside. He was only a mere foot from being hit.

_How unfortunate._

Kamaria honked the horn loudly, gaining the boy's attention once more.

“Do you _fucking_ mind?” She asked, venom dripping from her voice. “Did you know it’s stupid to be walking around in the middle of the night alone? I could have killed you!”

“I’m sorry,” he simply said, moving out of the way quickly.  His shoes hit the ground in rapid beats as he continued to apologize with every step, each more sorrowful than the last. He finally came to the side of her car, barely a few feet away from the window.

Kamaria could finally see what her potential victim looked like—he wasn’t your typical meth head from the slums of redneck, poverty-stricken, desolate town of Sandy Shores, he was maybe in his mid-twenties, dreads tied back, a sweater despite the humid heat. His nose bridge was pierced and so was his lip, something she’d only seen in ink magazines or the back of strip clubs.

However, despite his wild appearance, he seemed generally sincere in his apologies, and it almost made Kamaria want to apologize to him— _almost._

“What are you doing out here?” Her voice was no longer spilling hatred in the depths of her tones. Now she was just curious. Kamaria had heard quite a few rumors and tales about the lost city in the desert but she didn’t expect to find random strangers in the middle of butt-fucking-nowhere.

“I’m Wade.”

“I asked _why_ you’re here, not your name.”

“I was left behind.”

“Left behind?”

Wade shrugged, he seemed more lost than before. Like a lost child who couldn’t find their mom in a giant supermarket.

“My friend, Trevor, he kicked me out of the car when he got a call. He told me to walk home.”

“You’re kidding?”

He shook his head no.

 _He is a child_. Kamaria scanned him up and down, still debating on shooting him and leaving, or just continue listening to his silly sob story. Both sounded good in her alcohol-buzzed head. However, the last time she picked up a stranger from the side of the road ended in murder anyway.

“Where do you live?”

Wade’s face lit up with admiration, something Kamaria rarely saw.

“I would like it if you’d take me to the Yellow Jack Inn, I’ll be able to walk the rest of the way.”

She rolled her eyes. Kamaria had passed that poor mistake of a bar not too long ago. The place was infested with rednecks, drug addicts, and people that didn’t know what soap was. Some sap had almost, _almost_ , came close to vomiting on her car when she, unfortunately, stopped in the parking lot. If that had happened, there was going to be an accidental fire burning up the place.

“Get in.”

She pushed back the stray beer bottles onto the floor and unlocked the doors, waiting for the odd stray to pile inside her car. Her other hand had somehow found itself hovering above her pistol that was hidden near her thigh. Any wrong move, and sadly, the car’s interior would be no more.

“Thank you,” he shyly replied, “I don’t think anyone would have helped me.”

As Wade settled into the seat Kamaria started heading back towards the road. He didn’t seem like the type to attack strangers for God knows what, money, the pleasure of killing, the risk of indicating terror in a victim—all things Kamaria had done once or twice, but Wade looked to be your average partier that got lost.

Although, looks could be deceiving.

“Wade, how’d you exactly get kicked out? Was the call so important you had to be dumped on the side of the road?”

“Trevor says I’m not allowed to come with him when Lester calls.”

“Lester?” Her head cocked to the side, “Lester _Crest_?”

“Ya, I think that’s him. I overheard them saying they were going to convince this scary lady from Vice City to help with a job tonight.”

Kamaria’s hand gripped tighter on the wheel. She could feel the heat burning across her body, almost boiling her blood.

 _What a small fucking world Lester_. _Is that why you called Samuel?_ She should have figured it had something to do with a job, but it ended up causing more trouble than it all was worth.

Somehow the Columbians had tracked her down in that small amount of time. In less than twelve hours, from what she had found, there were approximately two assassins coming for her once more, and that didn’t count the base full of them near the edge of the city waiting to find her house. Samuel was on a twenty-four-hour watch when it came to Kamaria’s safety in Los Santos, and when she got the news, well she almost booked it to a different city once more.

It was only a short amount of time before they’d track her down again.

“So this woman, she’s supposed to meet them at the bar right?”

“I think so. But I don’t think she showed up.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because that’s why Trevor was mad. They needed something from her and she didn’t come.”

Kamaria nodded as the silent road crept up onto the Yellow Jack Inn, the lights shining brightly over the desert, the run-down cars still parked outside, even the same woman before was still standing in front as if her ride never came.

She waved goodbye as Wade left the car into the building, and Kamaria had a sly idea coming to her.

Lester Crest needed something from her, which she liked hearing. She always found it funny when people asked her for help because if it was big enough, she could make them do anything she needed them to do. In that case? Maybe, just maybe, she could get Lester and his stupid, little crew into doing the one thing she can’t do.

A smile spread across her face.

 

 **LESTER and his crew sat quietly around the living room.** Michael, Franklin, and Trevor were at a complete defeat because it seemed their only choice of a hacker was out of the question. Lester had delved deep into the world of hackers, and most either weren’t up to par, or they demanded a high cut of the ending pay despite not even being in the same state.

“So Les, what do we do now?” Michael asked, staring at the board of their initial plan. Lester’s red pen was scratched all over photos and maps, but it all seemed useless since the one thing they needed was completely out of reach.

Where was that woman? Did she just not see how badly they needed her help? Or did she just simply not care? Both were understandable, but Michael was in desperate need of wanting an answer.

Lester leaned against his cane, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, He too seemed at a lost for words, usually, he knew the answer, that was what he was known for. Yet, at that moment, he couldn’t give a single reason. All his boys, including the driver and gunman Michael had hired, were waiting for at least some clear answer on what to do.

“I told you before, she’s not exactly the type of person to rely on.” Lester seemed shocked at his own words. “I do have a few people you can look over Michael, hopefully, you’ll get a fairly decent one.”

The boys sat in silence, still harboring the idea that they may have used up all their luck. As Lester silently tapped along his computer, Michael leaning over his shoulder, no one heard the loud car slams from outside.

Never did they think the tapping of heels would have busted down their door with murder in their eyes.

The door fell with a hard slam, and all the boys turned to the opening where barrels held them in their spots. Four men, intent on making sure no one left their sights.

Kamaria’s bat hit the tip of her heel with a small tap, playfully listening to the wood against her shoes. From the corner of her eye, she could see Lester slowly moving to the entryway. He seemed surprised, but from the looks, all of them were.

“Lester, Lester, Lester,” her sweet voice chirped through the quiet room, “you haven’t changed a bit.”

Her red-painted lips curled into a devilish smile as Lester pushed his glasses up for a better view.  He seemed lost as she kept sliding forward, the sound of her heels raising his heartbeat with every step. “I figured you said no.”

“I never said anything. If I recall, Samuel was the one who spoke to you?”

“What do you want now?”

Her finger hit the side of her cheek, indenting her already prominent dimple. She took in a breath, and Kamaria continued with her clear voice, “you accidentally caused one hell-of-a fuck up, Mr. Crest, and I need you to fix it.” She sweetly laughed. “If you don’t, well, I hope your memory won’t fail you at a time like this.”

The clicking of a gunshot adrenaline through her system, and the blood of a stray crew member was now splattered against the wall. The once at-ready driver was dripping off the wood panels of Lester’s interior decorating, fresh red soaked into his bed, even some small droplets had flown onto Kam’s hand. She peered down to it, wiped it on her jeans, and began to continue her conversation.

“What the fuck!” An outcry of voices filled the room, some panicked, others just shocked. Either way, a snap of her fingers had her gunman calming them down.

“Listen, Lester,” Her voice grew stern, almost terrifying in the ears of those already panicked, “unless you want to find yourself at the bottom of the _fucking_ ocean, you’re going to undo the little mess you started. I had left Vice with my name on every hit list imaginable, the Russians, the Chinese, and of course, the fucking Colombians. With your little phone call to Samuel, it caused two of them looking for me here in Los Santos, and I need you and your boys to kill them for me.”

“Chill out lady!” Franklin cautiously said, his hands raised in front of the barrel in surrender.

Kamaria slowly turned, the bat resting under her fingers as if she was ready to swing. “Excuse me?”

Michael raised his hand towards Franklin, “don’t do anything stupid Frank, I think she means business.”

“Lester, I really don’t want to kill you or your friends, but if I need to. I will. I will fucking hunt down every person you _talked_ to in the past twenty years, I will slaughter them, burn them, cut them, and feed them to the sharks in the ocean unless you comply.”

He sighed in defeat, there was no getting out now.

“We’re going to need a little more information than what you're giving us.”

The same smiled spread along her face, “I do love it when people do what I want.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was more of a fillerish chapter.  
> I know, it's only chapter two and we're getting into partial fillers.  
> Sorry.  
> Don't worry though, I plan to have more action type scenes, more Trevor, and of course the slow burn love between Kam and one of the characters later on.


	4. The Meeting

**KAMARIA HAD TAKEN A LONG DRAG OFF A CIGARETTE BEFORE SHE BLEW OUT THE SMOKE RINGS,**  watching them dissipate into the white clouds above. She had assumed she had been doing that quite awhile because just like she was promised, Lester’s boys had shown up at the exact spot at the exact time she initially prescribed.

Stomping out the remaining butt of her cancer stick, she gave her signature playful smile as Michael came into view. “Hello Michael, I assume Lester had you get the job done?”

He wasn’t amused, almost agitated really. It must have been a rough night from the looks of it. Busted lip, a scratch above his right eye, she wouldn’t have called it a surprise if he had some sort of bullet hole underneath the nice clothes he wore.

“We did what you wanted us to do.” He replied, his agitation obvious in his voice. “We even got your fucking proof.”

Kamaria took notice of the gripped black bag in his hand, “Well, I’m glad Lester knows what’s good for him.”

“I don’t think you gave him very much of a choice.”

"Oh boo hoo, just give me the fucking bag so I can leave.”

Michael rolled his eyes as he tossed it to her, the contents inside rattling just a little. She unzipped the bag, pulled back the fabric, and took a small peek. Small bags of cocaine sat tightly packed, they were going to be shipped sometime that morning if it wasn’t for Michael.

“Columbian dust,” she rezipped the bag as she took it, “I heard it’s quite hard to smuggle it across the seas, especially here. I’m sure it would be rather disappointing to know it’ll never arrive at its final destination.”

“Whatever, I just came to tell you since we got it, Lester can’t die.”

“Oh, he can’t now? Why ever not?”

Michael grew more angry, _short temper huh?_ “We did what you asked, isn’t that enough to know Lester will live past this week?”

She laughed, “Oh Michael, Michael, Michael,” She pursed her lips, pulling down her shades to see him more clearly. “If there is one thing you need to know is business never ends. But,” She grabbed her bag and stood up, barely reaching Michael’s shoulders in heels. “Just because you did what I asked without fussing too much over it, I guess I’ll let him go just this once.”

“So you won’t kill him?”

“Nah, not now. Just know this isn’t the last time you’ll see me either Michael Townley, I know what you’ve been up to.”

With those last words said Kamaria headed back to her car, now replaced with a bright, cherry red convertible she had, shockingly, bought herself under a different name.

But that wasn’t the best part, it was the fact Michael was still standing in the park like he just witnessed a ghost pass him by. Still, as she started her car and left.

At the next stoplight, Kamaria pulled her phone out and dialed the same number she has called so many times before. The familiar ringing, the familiar sound of a tired voice, “Samuel, so nice to know you pick up after the second ring. Did you forget I had some poor saps take the shipment?”

“Oh, Kam, how could I forget?” He yawned across the line, “So what are you going to do with it now? Destroy it?”

“You’re a fucking amateur you know that?”

The other line stayed silent.

“Just know it’s taken care of. Remember to keep the shipment yards full and dandy, and don’t waste the fucking candy.”

She shut the phone down, tossed it into her backseat, and waited for the light to turn green.

             **WHEN MICHAEL had finally got the function to move, he headed back to the car where Lester and Trevor had stayed.** He was as pale as a ghost if she knew what he thought she knew, how long was it going to be before Trevor would know? As much as he hated to say it, Trevor was smarter than the average douchbag. He could figure out most things if given enough time, and if for any reason he wanted to know, he wouldn’t hesitate to locate Kamaria if he knew she could get him what he wanted.

It might have been evident he was a little shaken because Trevor was the first to pipe up.

“What? She offers to blow you off both ways?”

“For fuck’s sake T, can you just stop with the sex jokes with her? I heard at least fifty on the drive up here and now you’re going to continue?”

Trevor shrugged, “I was just saying.”

Michael started up his car, “What did she say?” Lester asked, leaning further to the front to get a clearer understanding. A bead of sweat ran down his forehead, apparent he was terrified of the woman who threatened to hit him with a baseball bat, but who wouldn’t? She had caused every single one of them to shit their pants the moment she burst through their doors. She killed one of their men before she even gave a proposition. Lester was right to be a tad overwhelmed.

“She said you’ll be fine, but it’s not going to be the last we see her.”

“So crazy cakes is going to keep making us do her jobs huh?” Trevor remarked.

“I don’t think it’ll be as bad as we’re thinking. We killed some competition for her, she lets us live, it’s a fair deal right?

Lester sarcastically laughed in the back, “you two obviously don’t know who Kamaria is. When she wants something, she’ll get it.”

“We’ll just have to have a civil conversation then.”

“Trevor, no.” Michael insisted, slamming on the brakes before he’d hit someone. The same red convertible just cut him off, the middle finger held in the air as the driver carelessly went right past. The waves of brown hair were no doubt Kamaria’s, and Michael swore.

“Hey, it’s crazy cakes right now, why don’t we zoom on by and have a little chat.”

“No T.”

“Come on, just five minutes and she’ll be right on our side.”

“No.”

Michael stood his ground as he pulled up right behind her, barely listening in on her conversation. She seemed lost in her own world for that brief moment, and in that time, she didn’t sound like a crazy, psychopathic serial killer intent on her bloodlust.

"…keep the shipment yards full and dandy, and don’t waste the fucking candy.”

“Hey!”

Michael turned to Trevor who was yelling from the window, and he swore he saw red. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Oh calm down Mikey, look, she see’s us.”

The woman was no doubt Kamaria, and the glare in her eyes was scary enough as is. “Oh no, look what you did. She’s going to kill us and it’ll be all your fault.”

              **KAMARIA’S head turned to the side, seeing Michael’s car behind her**. She recognized him instantly, still a lighter white from their earlier encounter. He seemed to be yelling something in his car, but it was completely inaudible from where she was.

The passenger, however, was someone she didn’t fully recognize. She had a vague memory of him the night she found herself at Lester’s house, but his name, she couldn’t have cared less who it was.

Unlike Michael, this man was completely the opposite, almost down the middle opposite. His hair had begun thinning at the top, the others turning into a light gray across his head. His facial features read worn and tired, with scars small and large lining everywhere on his older face. His dark brown eyes were staring right directly at her, and she’d have to admit, it did do something to her.    

“Can you guys leave me the fuck alone!” She called from her seat, not even caring when the light did indeed turn green. The other cars passed her by, but she stood her ground, “Look I promised not to kill you retards, isn’t that enough? Should I drive on by to Lester’s house and let a few of my bullets loose?”

“We’re sorry,” Michael called from the window, “but I have a fucking idiot for a partner, could we just forget the whole thing and pretend it never happened?”

Kamaria settled back into her seat, readying herself to pull through the intersection and head on home, but one thing stopped her, one small accident had caused her to see red and grip her steering wheel tight.

The back of her car was completely rammed in, the bumper on the ground, the paint far beyond scratched, the car was totaled in the rear.

 _A custom car,_ her knuckles turned white as she shut her eyes. _A four million dollar car thrashed in five minutes_.

She pulled off her glasses, jumped from her car, and headed to the car of boys who seemed a bit nervous, all besides the relatively attractive passenger who had a nonchalant expression on his face. She could see Lester in the back, now fearing for his life, and Michael, who didn’t fully concur what had just happened.

Kam slammed her way to his car, pulling at his suit collar, nearly dragging him from the car window. “Do you know what you just did?”

The passenger raised his hand, “no, crazy cakes, it was me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Trevor and Kamaria's meeting may not have been the best of ways to introduce themselves, but all in all, I laughed when I wrote this. I hoped you enjoyed!


	5. The FIB

**KAMARIA WAS STILL FUMING DAYS LATER.** Staring at the car from her driveway would send burning thoughts and adrenaline pumping through her veins, and she wanted to see Michael dead, his blood splattered on the concrete. Samuel recalled she was overreacting with the whole ordeal, but she never really cared for his two-cent opinions before anyway.

Sipping a dry martini, she was reimagining all the ways she could kill them: burn them with gasoline and watch them fly around the beach with fire on their back, potassium chloride injections that would burn their insides with every heartbeat, or even a simple gunshot through their head seemed to be relatively good from how angry she felt. Anything was good for her, she just wanted their hearts in her hand at that very moment.

The apartment she was staying at did no help in making her more comfortable and happier in her crises. It was much, _much_ ,  smaller than her beach house in Vice, with boring painted walls, neighbors that yelled a little too loud and even had a stench of sewage no matter how many people she called to get it fixed. The floors squeak, the halls groaned, there was nothing good about it despite it being untraceable under a different name.  Kam’s bedroom was still in boxes upstairs, and the lounge chairs did no help for her stressed nerves and wine-inducing sleeps.

 _For God’s sake, even the cat hates it_. The gray Maltese wondered around the apartment like it was confined in a box once more, meowing at all hours of the night to go outside in the Los Santos alleyways, but that was asking too much. She had seen some questionable people walk next to the garbage cans. Kam may not have had any room to talk about killing an innocent, but she knew killing domestic animals was beyond fucked up, and she didn’t want to take the chance with her gato. She would have been lying if someone asked if she teared up during movies when cats or dogs died.

“Cállate, Callisto,” She hushed him with a snap, a common thing she did when she wanted someone to listen. As she sipped her glass of wine she gave him a glare, and all Callisto did was stare back with his green eyes, still crying at her to let him outside.

****

**_MICHAEL WAS LAYING ON THE COLD HARD GROUND, a puddle of blood slipping from his lips onto the concrete._ ** _After a rather good punch to the face by Kamaria’s hand rattled with rings, he seemed to get the idea that she wasn’t meant to be fucked with, involved or not. Lester had had his ear ruptured moments before and now lied in the back in pain, and the little passenger who had the nerve to think he could get away with it was staying still, for there was a barrel of a gun pointed between his eyes. She had gotten his name in the midst’s of punches and groans, and Trevor seemed to fit the person standing underneath her._

_She did have to admit, he was attractive for an older man, but his eyes read psychotic tendencies and danger that would kill him in the future. The glare he was giving was fucking terrifying, and she gave him that. If Kam didn’t know the fear of potassium chloride injections and gang wars, she might have said she was a little afraid too._

_"Listen up assholes, that is a four-fucking-million dollar customized car, and you just totaled the entire back end.” She propped the safety off her gun off, her finger right on the trigger. She could shoot any moment and then Mr. Trevor Phillips would be dead before he’d hit the ground, but she didn’t dare go through with it fully. Kamaria knew who Michael Townley was, he was good at his job. If anyone was going to repay the costs of her car, it would no doubt by Lester’s little crew. “I let you all off once before, but a second time is really pushing it.”_

_She wanted to hear them beg for their lives, she wanted them to be underneath her feet like every other person in her field of work, Kamaria wanted to be praised just as she always was, but that select group of people wouldn’t do it, and she knew it. Trevor seemed too arrogant to beg, Lester found it beneath him, and Michael seemed to be the type that would rather die than ever have those words cross his tongue. But, Kam knew how exactly how to deal with those types of people, it was the same case for Samuel after all._

_As she threatened passer-buyers to get lost or she’d shoot them too, Kam redialed Samuel’s number, and diligently waited with a smile on her face. She almost seemed to be laughing at her own little game, and very soon, they’d be doing exactly what she wanted._

_"Hello Sam,” she almost sang his name, her giddiness coming back to her, “I have a favor to ask of you.”_

_Her pistol was still aimed right at Trevor’s head while Michael began to recover. He may have been old, but he sure knew how to fix himself in a gist. Lester seemed to in pain to come out of it anytime soon, but the problem under Kam was still glaring at her, and she gave him a quick wink._

_"No, no, I have a small problem with a group of boys that think they can do what they want. A Michael Townley to be exact, I want you to find the whereabouts of an Amanda De Santa around the city and I want a bullet through her-“_

_"Okay.” Michael seethed in pain as he tried to prop himself up, “look, we’ll get you the money, just don’t kill anyone alright.”_

_Those were the words she wanted to hear. They weren’t exactly how she imagined it, but it was close enough to have that fiery adrenaline pump through her system. As Michael finally stood up, the distant sound of sirens began to fill the streets, and Kam knew she had to get out of there before they’d all get caught._

_Just one pull of the trigger, no one needed a Trevor anyway._

If she wasn’t infuriated before, just reimagining it again caused her blood to boil. Her beautiful car, _destroyed_. Gone. Finished. The repair alone would be close to two-hundred thousand from the douchbag she called, and she was not in the mood to repay that amount so damn soon. She wondered how in the hell Michael, and now, Trevor, was going to get that money. Their little jewelry heist was pretty fine, but from her local “news” sources, Mr. Townley and his gang of children weren’t going to be getting themselves in that much trouble for a measly payoff—well, maybe.

She sighed _, this was absolutely ridiculous._ The past week was getting worse, and with the doorbell ringing at ten o’ clock at night, she figured it wasn’t over yet. Her cat ran upstairs in fright as Kamaria reluctantly opened the door, fully knowing who would be standing there with a shit-eating grin.

“Damn, you’d think being you you’d have found yourself an easier way to allow me inside.” He pushed her to the side, as usual in his too-small polos and the stench of authority in the public’s eye. Steve Haines, the asshole FIB who had somehow mixed himself with Kam’s thugs and drug wars, and still kept a spotless reputation in the folders of his colleagues.  

He, of course, was wearing his popular grin, the one that made you want to punch him square in his pearly whites, but his expression said otherwise. He was determined by something in the back of his devious mind, and she really did not want to listen to him babble for the next twenty minutes.

“So nice to see you again,” she muttered under her breath, slamming the door loud enough it caused him to jump. He seemed a little more reserved than her last meeting with Haines, but she figured the money was finally starting to soak into his little head. “Here for my money again?” She asked slyly, knowing it would get under his skin the moment it processed.

Steve turned back to her, ignoring her initial comment. They had known each other quite a while to pretend each other didn’t exist long enough to not kill the other. It was a working system between Kam’s drug business and Steve’s side missions.

“Actually, no. Come to think of it, I want you in on a little task group I’ve been building up. Your people only.” Steve jumped straight to the point, which was what Kamaria liked, but she wasn’t up to par with what he was saying. He sounded like Lester, and just thinking about it was sending her over the edge again.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Not by _your_ people, I mean criminals. I know your generous amounts of money have been keeping the division alive, but I need other things solved now. Bigger projects to get my name more out there. If anyone was going to help in on that, I say Lady Kingpin here would be the perfect candidate.”

“Fuck you.”

“What? I thought you loved it when people kissed your ass?”

Kam devilishly smiled, “I do.” Her grin fell just as fast, “but not by the same fucktards that put me in prison.”

“I got you _out_ of prison.”

"To get cash.”

Steve tapped his fingers against his leg, something she had seen him do a lot as a young agent. She could tell he was going further into his corrupted business because Haines only fidgeted when there was a chance of being caught. “You’re right, I’ll admit that. But unless you want to stay out of prison some more, you better get your sweet ass to the mill tomorrow.”

“Or what?”

Steve laughed, “then I’ll just get your name back on the most wanted, and you’ll be back in the big house before breakfast tomorrow morning without a trial.”

She shook her head. “You’re a real fucking idiot you know that?”

“You told me once.”

Callisto was once again remaking his cries upstairs, and Steve smiled again.

“I didn’t know you were human enough to care for animals.”

 Kam flipped him the bird, “but I still could kill you without feeling guilty.”

Steve handed her a paper from his pocket, folded into a million pieces and rubbed harshly from the way it was falling apart. In her hand, it felt old, brittle, and she guessed he had been holding it onto him for quite some time. Whoever had the letter last was obviously worried on who would take it. She only knew one person to wipe away his anxiety with papers, but he'd been gone from her life long before she cared anymore.

“You know, I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t killed that FIB agent in Vice. You should thank Samuel for sending you here, it’ll pay off. Maybe it would bring _him_ back into the picture, huh sweetheart?” And he left the apartment without another word.

Kamaria was still standing in the middle of her living room, the paper still in her hand. She was still wondering if Samuel was doing her a favor for bringing her back to Los Santos, but from the way, things had been going, and the unexpected that will unfortunately unfold tomorrow, Kam was reluctant to say thank you. Vice City was like a fine wine, aged to perfection just for her. Los Santos was like a cheap liquor store you’d go to on a bender, something that would leave a bad taste in your mouth.

With an exasperated sigh, she unfolded the paper, and for one split second, she felt something other than anger that day.

               

               

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kudos and comments! I love all of you!!


	6. The Job

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ MY NOTES DOWN BELOW!
> 
>  
> 
> THANK YOU

**KAMARIA and threats never bonded well went put together, but something, either God, her instincts, or just the general idea of she was going to be in deep shit, Kam went through with it.** As her temporary car pulled into the entrance of the Mill, she could already see the shitbag that was Steve Haines, a few of his back-stabbing agents, and a straggler or two of other assholes she couldn’t have given a damn about. Underneath her shades she was glaring, but luckily Steve was too stupid to even notice with his constant blabbering to his coworkers.

                “It’s nice to see you join us Kamaria!’ Steve exclaimed happily the moment he saw her, a fake, giddy smile spread across his face like nothing but a simple hello was at fault.

Her yellow sportscar pulled itself into the slot between two FIB vans and set herself to work. In the back of her trunk was the exact thing Steve needed, but she wasn’t happy to be giving it to him at all. Her old car may have been the prime thing she was upset about, but seeing Steve made all those awful memories in Vice reappear in her head, and she wanted his brains sprawled against the gravel ground. She wanted his blood on her hands, spilling through rocks, covering sand, even wanting to have it drip on her skin despite her hatred of it. She wanted him dead more than anything in the world.

Steve snapped at his agents to step aside as Kam popped her trunk, a case decorated in black and unsayable sins she couldn’t describe without a few stomachs turning. Her one-of-a-kind bolt action, specially designed for missions and crimes just for her, sleet black, a scope that could target objects with precise accuracy, her jeweled treasure outside a few selectable things. She rarely used it unless under dire circumstances, but it seemed the best of times to get Steve back on his good side. He wasn’t going to get her out of anything unless she was compliant, much to her disagreement. Kam had a reputation for not behaving and doing what people wanted, which was exactly the reason why some poor bastard was put in a hospital with a nail pinned his head. _Oh, how good would you look with a rod sticking from your brain?_

“I figured you would have brought it,” Steve pointed to the helicopter behind him, “which is exactly why you’re getting in.”

Kamaria gripped her keys in her hand, feeling the metal dig deep into her flesh. Somehow focusing on that pain helped in not stomping on his head with her red-bottomed heels. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, I’m not getting in that damn thing.”

“Oh, but I think you will if you know what’s good for you.”

She rolled her eyes, and she tried to give a smile, a mix of don’t-try-me, and I’m-going-to-fucking kill-you-before-the-day’s-out.

“Set it up and get in,” Steve instructed, and Kam gritted her teeth.

Shoving aside his lackey’s, Kam went back to opening the case, setting up the gun, and finally started to listen in on the voices outside Steve’s irritating growl. She knew those three voices fairly well, maybe a little more than she would have liked too. She was envisioning a clad, steady, uptight man in suits and a beautiful car underneath his heels. A family behind him, with visions of fortune with the ones he loved. Another young boy with too much upon his shoulders for his age, a life of misfortunes and tries that never went right. Someone who was just trying to get by in the harsh world. And another older man, who had danger in his eyes, the thrill of riding outside the laws, someone who would burn from the heat rather than get out. Someone who had once been underneath her gun previously, the very someone who called her crazy-cakes in traffic upon seeing her.

Lifting up her glasses she could see the three boys across the parking lot, circled together near the helicopter uttering words she and everyone outside them couldn’t hear. They seemed lost in their own conversations, maybe a few too-loud curse words, but that was the worst she was getting out of it, but profanity wasn’t much of a deal inside her brain, she swore more than sailor.

“Listen ladies, it’s time to get things rolling,” Steve announced, pulling Kam closer to the helicopter. The grip of his fingers against her forearm was harsh, and she was about to turn around and break his before she’d get a bruise. Any pain to Steve would have been a pleasure in her eyes really. “We have to be at their headquarters in a certain amount of time people, let’s get moving!”

It finally alerted his team and they set themselves to their designated jobs, some agents went to their vans, others leaving in cars, but the clan she seemed to be stuck with were the exact people who owed her a hefty amount of cash and a damn apology on their knees. She was sure they wouldn’t be shocked to see her, but they wouldn’t be happy about it either. The now group of four seemed to be sharing a mutual hatred for one another.

“Well, if it isn’t crazy cakes herself.”

Trevor’s voice broke through her thoughts, and she almost wanted to just take the gun in her hand and shoot. She tried to maintain her breathing exercises that psych had given her, but it seemed her blood was just at a permanent boil. Any hotter she might have mimicked the sun, or died, whatever came first.

Steve shot a finger in her direction, “look at you. No need for directions, introductions, fucking whatever right? Just hop in the chopper boys, and lady,” giving a glance at Kam who had clutched her gun so hard her knuckles turned white, “and we’ll get on with our FIB rescuing mission.”

Michael readjusted his newly found suit, a black outfit that resembled a S.W.A.T. member’s uniform. It covered him from head-to-toe, possible bullet-proof armor underneath, and a set of handles for easy delivery outside a flying object, and she assumed that was what the helicopter for. A rescue mission of some poor asshole, with many possible ways to be killed in action. Kamaria wasn’t against dying with a gun in her hand, but she was one-hundred percent against the idea of falling out of a helicopter.

“Listen you four, I want it quick, easy, and I want him delivered here without any interruptions alright?”

“Interruptions?” Franklin cocked his head, “What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, nothing of course.” Steve shook his hands as if shaking the idea. “but just in case, that is why we have little, “Crazy cakes” as you call her, fitting name by the way. She’s a great shot, and she’ll get anyone off your tail incase there is a problem, right, _Kamaria_?” He said her name like it was secret, implying there was much more at stake than a little fucked up rescue mission.

Her elbow rammed into his chest, and for a moment she almost became thrilled of the idea he died of cardiac arrest, but to no avail, he was still breathing down her neck as he pushed her inside the helicopter with a shove.

“In and out, ladies.”

Trevor climbed into the pilot seat, and her heart ran a mile. He was absolutely batshit crazy, and they were allowing him to not only control how this mission was going to go down, but to also fly across the city in a metal cage? Her hand gripped the top of her door as they lifted from the ground, her heart stuck in her throat.

“Well, well, well, crazy cake’s scared of a little flying isn’t she?” Trevor pestered, and it seemed to be something he was good at, outside the meth business and smuggling guns of course. He liked to think humor was his best virtue, and he wanted his sick smile be the last thing they saw as they killed him, because he wasn’t going to die any other way.

Kam tried to keep her voice steady, unwavered, but she felt like she wasn’t doing a good job. “Listen asshole, just remember you idiots owe me a brand new fucking car. Unless you want those words sprawled on your grave, continue with your little nicknames and fucking comments.”

“We’re sorry about the car.” Michael said, “we’ll try to get you what you want as soon as this damn FIB business is finished.”

“What the government’s bitch is trying to say is we’ll have your money to you as soon as possible. As much as I hate Lester, he still owes us a few things and we want him alive for that.” Trevor gave her a side-smirk as they turned, causing Kamaria to cover her mouth in fear of throwing up in the air, “after we make our big break you can kill him.”

“T, no.” Michael was sure he had said that sentence more times than he had said his own name, but the words still felt fresh in his head every time . “We are not letting her kill Lester. Don’t you remember that was the whole reason we agreed to kill the Columbians?”

“Big fucking deal, we kill all the time Michael.”

“But we need Les alive.”

“What for, I can plan things just fine. All he wants is his twenty percent cut. Can you imagine what it would be if Lester wasn’t there? How much more money we would be making without him?”

“We are not killing Lester.  Besides, you’re plans are fucking crap”

“You’re a turd.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Kam shouted, her hand clenching the edge of her seat, vomit stuck at the middle of her throat. She had turned literal green the past fifteen minutes. Trevor wasn’t a _bad_ pilot, but he wasn’t a damn good one either. The turbulence, the shaking, the fact they could spin out onto the ground hundreds of miles below, she wasn’t taking any chances with him not paying attention to where he was going.  “Can you focus on driving the damn thing?” She swallowed down last night’s dinner. “Please?”

 Trevor smiled as he turned back to the sky, “whatever you say crazy cakes.”

The remainder of the helicopter ride wasn’t entirely enjoyable, but it seemed Trevor toned the harshness of how he handled flying. The sky wasn’t swirling, Kam wasn’t on the brink of losing her food, and she was able to finally loosen her grip on the gun, her palm now sore as she took a moment to breath.

 _How fucking unfortunate._ Kamaria Leons was _supposed_ to be the fearless Kingpin of Vice, but there she was, asking politely for a maniac to slow down on a helicopter ride. She had people begging for their lives at her feet, men she could get to do whatever she wanted, and there she was, ruining her reputation in the blink of an eye.

If Samuel ever found out about it, she would never be able to live it down.

The IAA building finally came into sight. Kamaria could see where Franklin was perched, his gun aimed at the windows across, almost as still as the building itself. If Michael hadn’t had pointed him out, she may not have noticed him.

Trevor made a sharp left to the building, and Kamaria once again held on for some support, even letting out a small gasp as the thing plunged closer to the building. The buzzing of the helicopter blades filled her ears, and her heart began to thump all over again.

Steve Haines was already on her shit list, but after that, she was going to make sure he had a one-way ticket to Hell.

“Hold the chopper, I don’t want to have any trouble going down.” Michael said, jumping out the side without a second glance. Kamaria imagined herself doing the same thing, and her stomach lurched back into her throat. From the corner of her eye, she could see Michael rappel downwards, scaling the windows looking for the poor sap they had been issued to save.

Steve probably could have gone without her being there, it seemed Michael, Trevor, and Franklin were fully capable of doing a job on there own, but it wasn’t about the damn job. Steve just wanted Kam to make sure she knew her place in their little agreement. For her to know her disobedience will just end in regret.

“So what’s your deal with Steve?”

Speaking of the devil, Kam turned to Trevor who was staring at her, waiting for her to respond on their small talk. Typically, she might have thought it was awkward, mainly because most people she threatened never lived past the first day, and those who had the barrel directly on their heads? Will they never made it past the first hour. But strangely, there was no tension between them. Kam guessed it was because she wasn’t exactly all there with the world spinning in front of her, but she hoped, deep down in her thoughts, that it didn’t have anything to do with that.

She shrugged, still grinding her teeth in hopes of not getting sick. “We have history unfortunately. Turns out not everyone you meet comes out an obedient worker.”

“Is that how you came to be?”

She scoffed, “No, I just learned some good lessons from some fucked up people.”

Just as Trevor was about to say something, Michael down below was in a little bit of trouble. Gunshots were rippling through the air, some painful wails, and one fearful scream from the man Kamaria assumed was the one they were saving. From where she sat, she couldn’t exactly see what was going on, but Franklin was on top of it all. The bullets she could subtly make out were most likely his, and it seemed he was taking out as many as he could for Michael as Trevor tried to hold the helicopter steady.

It seemed her adrenaline was finally kicking in her system, and she was conscious enough to make a few decent decisions in her brain. Unbuckling her seat belt, Kam carefully made her way to the opened side of the helicopter, her gun in hand. With a few steady steps, a subtle pray to God, and her fingers touching the ceiling, Kamaria settled into side with her feet dangling in the air.

If Trevor made one mistake, she’d be flying out into the open air.

“You better hold on crazy cakes- we’re about to take off.”

Trevor wasn’t kidding. Kam gripped the side with all the strength she had, and down below, she could see Michael suspended in air, with nothing but a rope securing him. She shivered at the thought, crossed her legs, and aimed her scope right at the men through the window. A few stubborn IAA agents seemed a bit pissy in the FIB’s corrupted rescue mission, but a few of Kam’s bullets through their skulls would forever shut them up.

The moment the scene was cleared, Michael and Kerimov made themselves up back into the helicopter, and she had to admit she was feeling a bit happier with them back inside. It meant being back on ground was closer than before, but it seemed her small celebration was short-lived. From across the horizon, she could pinpoint three helicopters overhead. All three were branded with IAA logos. Kamaria knew they were in deep shit, but she bit her tongue for once, aimed her gun, and shot right in between the eyes of one of the pilots.

It went down with a spin below, then a second one, and finally, with her finger pressing against the trigger, a humming blast, and the break of the glass, the third fell just like the others. For a second she couldn’t believe she just shot something from the door of something she feared, but she also realized it seemed Trever was trying to keep it as still and smooth as possible.

 

 

 **IT seemed like forever before they all landed back safely on the ground**. As Kamaria jumped from the opening, her legs wobbled underneath her, and she almost cried from happiness. She was back on solid ground after that wretched experience. She never, _never_ , wanted to repeat that again. If Steve happened to be alive next time they do this again, Kam would take the option of going back to prison and being injected with potassium chloride than ever placing herself back in a plane, helicopter, even a fucking UFO if it came down to it.

Michael and Trevor seemed to have a constant-bickering relationship, because the whole ride back all she could hear was there babbling between one another. The ties they shared, North Yankton, the fucking sob-story she could have given two shits about. If she wanted to know their life stories she would have asked. She didn’t even want to think about Kerimov again, who repeated his thank you’s and small encounter of a flashlight about to go up his ass.

“Thank you so much ladies,” Steve slyly commented, pointing his men to grab the poor sap they just saved. After being tortured, and knowing every detail before they landed, it seemed Kerimov just couldn’t catch a break. If the IAA was bad, what would the FIB be doing to him? Shoving jumper cables up his ass along with that flashlight?

The FIB cleared out pretty quick, and it was Kam’s signal to do the same. Her adrenaline seemed to be wearing down with every passing minute, which would not only bring back the spinning sky, but also the need to toss up every meal she had eaten the past three months. All she wanted to do was take a nap, which was a surprise since she liked to spend her time in Los Santos VIP clubs or riding crazy across the desert. For once in her life, Kam thought she had enough adrenaline-inducing activities.

“Well, I think I had enough excitement for the day it seems.” She swallowed hard again, walking wobbly to her car. She felt tequila-drunk. Like she just guzzled a whole bottle and shockingly stayed conscious.

Michael waved goodbye, “we’ll give you the money to your car as soon as possible.”

She laughed, trying desperately to shove the key into the ignition to start it. A crazy idea swirled in her memory, and she simply replied, “forget about the damn car.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO SORRY for not updating this in a while. I just got so caught up in other things it completely slipped my mind until yesterday. I'm starting to pack for college and beginning to move out of my parent's house to go up to the city, and with the stress of tuition, living conditions, my ESA, I just couldn't get the time to write until yesterday/incredibly early in the morning today. 
> 
> I hope you guys forgive me. But now I can continue into the next chapter and hopefully have it done sometime next week.
> 
> I absolutely love writing this book, and all your love and support are just making me enjoy writing it even more so THANK YOU!! 
> 
> As a heed of warning though, as much as I do enjoy writing this, I still want to maintain my honors in college so my writing days might be sparsed. Meaning I will be focusing more on classes and not my books as upsetting as that sounds. I will TRY to get some writing down here and there, but after August 20th, my writing may not be as consistent as it once was. I'll be studying more, I might have a job, and will have classes although out the day/night to finish out my bachelor's degree. 
> 
> BUT, as I said, this book isn't going to completely end. I'll still be updating, checking comments, checking kudos, messaging you guys back. I just want to focus more on school and have this as a second-option thing until May.
> 
> So if you enjoy this book please put it into your bookmarks that way you get the latest updates whenever that may be. As always you can leave comments, some kudos, and even-possibly-get a chance to be apart of a competition I'll be setting up. I want this competition to be fun and enjoyable when I can't write, so in about two weeks I will share what it is.
> 
> Until then, thank you for understanding and I love you so much!!
> 
>  
> 
> QUESTION OF THE DAY:
> 
> 1\. Who is Kamaria based on?
> 
> Answer:
> 
> Kamaria was roughly based off cartel owner/godmother Griselda Blanco, and Tommy Vercetti from Grand Theft Auto Vice City. I wanted Kam to be ruthless and badass, over-the-top with everything, and completely lacking guilt in her crimes. I didn't want her to be someone who needed saving really, I wanted her to be the type to do the saving when I first brought her to life. I wanted a sexy vixen who could shoot a gun as well as she could use her assets. 
> 
> I choose Griselda Blanco for her personality and work in the Cartel. She was the Godmother of Cocaine, as they liked to call her, and distributed drugs across Miami and Columbia during her reign. Which was similar to how Vice City was influenced, which was based on the 1980's drug business between said locations. Giselda was said to be ruthless and uncaring towards most people. Her high body count and reputation were what usually caused trouble for when it came to assassinations from rival drug businesses and police. Although Kam upholds a similar reputation, I didn't want her to be completely lacking in good traits. Which is why she's sarcastic, a little dramatic, and does have feelings for things outside her self, such as her cat. Tommy was also a huge influence. Vice City is one of my favorite games of all time, and his character was what brought Kamaria to life essentially. He was very intelligent and had a short fuse, which is similar to how Kam thinks in her head. Both these characters resort to Violence incredibly quickly, and it's fun to play around with, but both also have a softer side to them, which you have caught a small glance at before.
> 
> I originally wanted a character that was bad, evil, completely undesirable in real life but I tried to make her out to be cool and awesome to the readers while still maintaining her bloodlust and her bad traits. She's technically a non-trustworthy protagonist, which is something I never got to write before and still somewhat new despite being six chapters in. 
> 
> Anyway, I hoped you enjoyed!!
> 
> *If you have any questions that want to be answered comment down below and I will possibly put them in the next chapter*


	7. The Deal

**ABOUT two days later, Kamaria had a devious idea up her sleeve**. She wasn’t sitting in a dark room manically laughing to herself underneath a dirty lightbulb, no, she was more like sitting on the couch flipping through every channel offered on the television in front of her. Her finger would be getting a workout from how long she was sitting there flipping through the channels, never really paying attention to the actual voices or pictures, but lost in her own thoughts as she tried to go through every detail wondering in her head.

Callisto had curled himself around her feet which kept her warm from the cool air blowing through the vents. Her apartment was cold, in more than one way too. It wasn’t homely, nor was it comfortable, it didn’t even look as if someone lived there at all, just a concrete apartment with too many holes in it’s decaying walls. She was tired of it. Kamaria missed her beach house on the shores of Vice, the warm sun hitting her skin, nothing but the taste of exquisite riches she had found herself growing to like. A piece of heaven draped in the sand and the ocean.

But that wasn’t what was on her mind. She was envisioning Steve Haines blood splattered on walls. She was seeing his body dead at his feet. She was seeing his heart in her hand as she squeezed his life away.

She had never wanted a man dead as much as she wanted Steve Haines to be coughing up his own blood. Kamaria had enemies where all she did was envision them begging for their lives, but Steve was a completely different case. She just saw his body, no begging, no convincing, no mercy, just death spilled across her mind like a fine red, cursive, letters.

As she flipped through the same channel of a doctor’s finger going up  someone’s ass, a particular person with a cane warped in her mind. Lester Crest was an ass, but he knew how to do a good job, and she needed someone to do a job as dirty as the one she was thinking of. She couldn’t ask Samuel. He would be particularly pissed to know Kam was running with Steve again. He told her not too, and there she was, all over again as if the last five years of lessons meant nothing.

Kamaria Leons was in a dilemma, and for once television was not going to cut it.

Callisto seemed to feel her distress, because he curled further into her feet and purred, issuing her to pay attention to him rather than her thoughts.

_Steve handed her a paper from his pocket, folded into a million pieces and rubbed harshly from the way it was falling apart. In her hand, it felt old, brittle, and she guessed he had been holding it onto him for quite some time. Whoever had the letter last was obviously worried on who would take it. She only knew one person to wipe away his anxiety with papers, but he'd been gone from her life long before she cared anymore._

_“You know, I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t killed that FIB agent in Vice. You should thank Samuel for sending you here, it’ll pay off. Maybe it would bring him back into the picture, huh sweetheart?” And he left the apartment without another word._

_Kamaria was still standing in the middle of her living room, the paper still in her hand. She was still wondering if Samuel was doing her a favor for bringing her back to Los Santos, but from the way, things had been going, and the unexpected that will unfortunately unfold tomorrow, Kam was reluctant to say thank you. Vice City was like a fine wine, aged to perfection just for her. Los Santos was like a cheap liquor store you’d go to on a bender, something that would leave a bad taste in your mouth._

_With an exasperated sigh, she unfolded the paper, and for one split second, she felt something other than anger that day._

_In the small, scratched lettering she knew so well, her father’s writing was still just the same as she last saw it. Too pressed into the paper, a font that had memories come forth, a piece of her already shattered heheartbreakingith the words he wrote._

**_My Luna._ **

_“I have heard quite some news of your endeavors since we last saw each other. I specifically told you to no longer run with those men, you know what happened to the others, to me, I don’t want to see you in prison again like the rest of us. You were better than what we made you out to be._

_I heard your mother is not doing well without you. Have a conscious and please rethink what you have been doing._

_Murder is never the answer, I could have told you that years ago. I’m sorry for never thinking of how you would react to all this. I just wanted you to be happy with the money I brought, for you to make a life outside of what we knew. I wanted you to be happy with the idea you could be something bigger than a member in a gang, a poverty-stricken woman, someone with no future. I know the money you’ve been bringing in, but I never wanted that for you._

_I love you my dear. Never forget that._

_Both you and your sister were everything, I don’t want to see either of you following in my footsteps.”_

_Your Father_

Kamaria could see the letter still on the table across the room, the paper wrinkling from the sweat of her hands after hours of holding it. She reread those stupid words over and over again and she practically memorized the entire thing before that night ended. It had been so long since she had heard anything from him.

Would he even recognize the woman she had become?

 

                **“LISTEN Lester,” Kamaria held her hands out in defense playfully, a small smile spreading along her features as Lester backed more into the chair he sat, “I know what happened before, but I need to ask you a favor.”**

“A favor?” His jaw nearly dropped as Kam edged closer to him, he was at a complete lost. After blasting on of his men, threatening the others, he couldn’t believe the Kingpin of Vice was even _thinking_ of asking him for something. Not only that, he wondered what awful things she had planned for him. Would she make him dance in his underwear and film it? Hunt down some more people ready to be targeted by her bloodlust? Or even try to hack into government websites that would ultimately put him into prison? The possibilities were endless from the brunette woman.

“Yes, a favor.” She winced at the words, like acid to her tongue. Kamaria had rarely asked for favors in her life, Lester was one of the luckiest people to grace the earth in her opinion. “Just a small little deal, nothing too extreme.”

Lester pushed his glasses further up his nose, “your definition of extreme is far different than mine.”

“I’ll give you that.”

“With everything you’ve done to us do you really expect us to help with anything?”

She shrugged, “There was always a chance.” Kamaria took it upon herself to sit on the couch offered to her in the room. The office of Darnell Bros. was something she didn’t expect from Lester, but then again, she hardly knew the man. The board in the corner was marked with red pens and photos of various colors, and she could see a smidge of the jewelry store insides from where she sat. Kam assumed both him and Lester worked closely in this building before.

If it was easy to track him down there, how easy was it for the police?

“I know you don’t like me, which is fitting because I don’t like you either. But it seemed my brother put trust in you for some ungodly reason so I think you’d be the best choice outside my own men.”

“Your point?”

Kam smiled again, “if you do what I ask, without any complications, I will forget any encounters between us. No owed money, no jobs, nothing. Just you and your little crew alone in Los Santos.”

“The last time you said that your brother was still alive. What’s the deal?”

“I need someone dead.”

Lester scoffed, “you always want someone dead.”

“But he’s just not anyone. He’s a man I can’t get to so I need some,” she swallowed hard, “ _help_. His name is Steve Haines. He’s a bastard FIB agent that thinks he can meddle into my business. I want him gone, and I can’t get to him alone. His popularity and upper ranks are hard to get too, not to mention he knows my face and tactics, and most likely knows I want him dead as well.”

Lester slowly walked from one end of the run to the other, his thoughts running wildly from just the idea of Kamaria coming to him. If she was asking him for help, there was a sign she didn’t trust anyone she personally knew, or she had another scheme of her sleeve to have him take the fall for it all. There was never telling what the devious woman had on her mind.

“You do know I would need to talk to Michael before we make any sort of agreements, and from what I heard, you threatened his family on the side of a road not even a few days ago.”

“Trevor shouldn’t have rammed my car.’”

“I also heard that too. You need to keep your temper in check if we’re going to work with you.”

“I’ll make sure I rip your teeth out and watch you choke on your blood unless you keep your snide comments to yourself. And one more thing, make that asshat Trever stop calling me crazy-cakes.”

“Trevor?” He crackled a small laugh, “I don’t tell him what to do unless it’s a job.”

Those words caused curiosity to rise in Kam’s body, “why not?”

“You just don’t tell him what to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this chapter's so short! I just finished moving in and had zero inspiration for this. Anyway, I'll get that spark back soon, don't worry your little heads off!
> 
>  
> 
> Question of the Day:
> 
> How old is Kamaria?
> 
> Answer:
> 
> Kam is roughly around thirty-six years of age (She was born on July 30th, 1977), making her around nine years younger than Trevor is. ( In 2013-he was near 45 years of age from what I have been researching).


	8. The Agreement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> COMPETITION DETAILS BELOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

**STANDING outside Lester’s house in the rain was the last thing she might have imagined.** It had just begun pouring not too long ago, and Kam’s choice of attire involving shorts and a loose shirt did nothing for her early-rain shivers. Loud thunder roared in the distance, cars zoomed over fresh puddles, and Kam quietly sat on the steps as she waited for the yelling inside to calm down.

After her little talk with Lester, he called his crew back to his house to discuss options involving her and Steve, but the way some of them sounded made it look as if Kam was on her own. Michael was the calmest of the few, but even he sounded as if Lester just dropped a bomb onto his head. The neighbors were sure to call the cops if someone didn’t quiet down their conversations any time soon.

Kamaria knew it was stupid to ask for help. Why would they even consider it? If someone treated her the same way she treated them, well they’d be dead, shot, cut up, whatever came first in Kam’s devious mind. But of course, they were terrified of her. She gave them all the reasons why they shouldn’t disobey her.

Asking for help was probably the last thing they imagined when it involved her. This decision was now in their hands, and Kam could threaten them all she wanted, but she knew it was still their choice to help or not.

So now, sitting in the cold rain was the least of her problems.

What was she going to do if they said no?

What was she going to do if they said _yes_?

The creaking of the front door brought Kam out of her sorrows, and Lester wobbled to the porch with a look in his eye Kam feared.

“We have come to a decision,” Lester said, causing Kam to slightly laugh.

“What are we? A court system?”

 _Damn._ Kamaria’s smile quickly fell. _Well whatever the answer was before, now it’s going to stay no. That joke was awful_.

Trevor stepped forward from the house, still clad in the same outfit she had seen him wear weeks ago. A dirty white shirt covered in dust and oil, sweatpants with the same rugged marks with a few blood splatters and boots covered in red mud up and down the leather. She wondered if he ever changed.

Probably not. If she didn’t fear germs and being smelly, she’d probably stay in her casino-gold dress or cat pajamas she’s too embarrassed to admit she owned.

Kamaria stood up and crossed her arms as she waited for one of them to speak, and it just so happened Trevor was the one that started it first. “We all agreed to help, _if_ , you pay up.”

“Lester mentioned you make billions in your business,” Michael said matter-of-factly, “we only want a small portion of it if we survive this job.”

Kam flicked her tongue and glared at Lester, of course, it was him that said something about her revenues. Her brother might have let the amount of slip shortly before his death, he liked to brag over the dumbest things, his or not. But her business had changed since then. She made billions of course, but just like all businesses, it was divided among her workers. She made a hefty cut in the end, but no amount like what she was beginning to think they wanted.

“We want ten million.”

Trevor smiled, “each.”

She rolled her eyes. It wasn’t as bad as she thought, but parting with forty million? She’d rather have her hand cut off. But then again, they _had_ agreed. Which was better than she thought she’d be left with.

Kamaria gritted her teeth, “fine. Ten mil each.”

“And no more jobs on the side.” Lester commented, “we strictly only work on our heists and your problem with Steve. No Columbians, Russians, whoever else is after you, just strictly on what you’re paying us.”

“And no killing us after,” Franklin also added.

Kamaria couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

“ _And_ you have to help on the heist you fucked up,” Trevor mentioned.

All four boys seemed to be stern on their decisions. _Stubborn_. A trait Kam had but didn’t like others with. If she didn’t agree, where else was she going to find four reckless idiots to do her bidding?

Through gritted teeth and a glare, Kam nodded with their agreements.

 

 **IT wasn’t long before she got another call from Steve Haines.** Kamaria was wondering when she would once again hear his irritating voice through a receiver, and it turned out he’d call during her relaxing day of drinking margaritas at the beach.

With a lime flavored drink in one hand, and a payphone in the other, Kam couldn’t resist mocking Steve as he spoke with his over-the-top voice and threats that meant very little to her personally. He knew what would make her do the job, but instead he was wasting both his and her time with idle requests and God-awful ideas that only he could make up.

“I want you there Kamaria.”

“I fucking heard you the first damn time.” She took a sip of her drink, feeling the burning buzz run down her throat like many times before and placed the phone back where she got it. The phone rang again, and she figured Steve wasn’t done speaking to her, but she just didn’t care any more. Kamaria was all out of fucks to give when it came to Steve—or so she thought. Alcohol and Kamaria were usually a combo seen together, but a combo that was no less better than a flame and gasoline. Her mind was buzzing in all sorts of ways, some logical, some illogical, but there was one thing or certain, she loved the taste of tequila.

All Kam wanted to do was waste her day drinking hard liquor and soaking up the polluted Los Santos sun. And now she was going to have to make her way to some abandoned warehouse west of where she was half drunk and in desperate need of some water.

Finishing off her glass and tossing it in the trash with a loud shatter, Kam reluctantly went to retrieve her bag and head off to the damn place Steve so desperately wanted her for. It was most likely for that guy they “saved” from the IAA not too long, but still she had no idea why Steve needed her so damn bad. Maybe just to watch and waste more of her precious time, or just kill the guy when they finish with whatever they needed him for. She was good at that. Just one bullet through that guy’s skull, and maybe one or six in Steve’s would suffice.

Kamaria put on her jacket and shorts and headed to her car, still fuming with alcoholic flames. She knew she was in that state where she felt warm and fuzzy, maybe a little good if Steve hadn’t interrupted her Saturday morning.

The drive up there was a little short of a few potential accidents, but if there was on thing Kam knew besides cocaine, it was driving semi-drunk through big cities. Which would have been something she’d put on resume’s if she had a need too make one—or maybe not. Liquor was a hell of a drug.

She giggled at the thought as she pulled into the back of the warehouse, only to spot the black car of a Mr. De Santa, and a red Bodhi belonging to a Mr. Phillips.  But there was no sign of Franklin’s white car, nor any sign of him at all. She had heard the unfortunate news of Michael’s situation, and it seemed he wanted Franklin to stay as far away as possible from Steve—which she couldn’t blame him for.

“Kamaria!” Steve exclaimed from the doorway, “I was sure you were going to ditch. Which would be unfortunate-”

“Ya, ya,” she nodded walking out her car and past both him and a man she had not met before. The other one seemed to be as douchy as Steve, with the same polos and a matching shit-eating grin. If he didn’t have such a big nose, she might have thought Steve had a twin she didn’t know anything about. However, there was one thing about him that struck her though, he looked like one of those middle-aged men you saw on Viagra commercials or Herpes medication at two in the morning.

He glanced her up and down as she walked by, and it took all nerves to not punch him where he stood. Her glare was tearing through the tense atmosphere, and both Trever and Michael’s voice were what broke through her dangerous thoughts of smoke-filled warehouses and impaled bodies.

It seemed they argued more than children. If they were alone, they’d probably bicker at each other like an old married couple, which is exactly what seemed to happening below the stairs underneath her feet. Michael was a total buzzkill from how Kam was processing things. His talk of self-righteous acts, government-bitch wazoo, or whatever he kept uttering to Trevor was as honest as she was when it came to sober crime—which wasn’t saying much.

“Why don’t you two just kiss already?” Kam yelled from a top, laughing quietly to herself. It seemed the buzz was beginning to take more into effect. Her cheeks were coated with a light red, she felt warm, and she seemed to be having a little fun despite her shitty situation. “Or fuck, whatever comes first. Y’know? If you get married in Venice next year, don’t invite me. I fucking hate weddings.”

As she peered further down, there was the man they supposedly saved before, just as she thought. He seemed to be tied to a chair, a few bruises decorated his dark skin, and blood spots were dried near his nose and mouth. Underneath his gag he seemed to be muttering something, but she couldn’t hear him over Steve’s cackle of a laughter and Steve #2’s silent snickering.

“C’mon Kamaria, we have quite a show about to begin,” Steve showed up behind her as the other left the warehouse. His arms grabbed her sides- _tightly_ , and it was all but a moment before Kamaria was turning back to her deadly self. She squirmed from his grip, raised her fist, and was about to knock a few of his teeth out before someone stopped her from doing so. She followed the arm up to Trevor’s stern face, and he whispered in a low tone only the three of them could hear.

“As much as I would _love_ for you to take him out, we’re at the hands of a corrupted agent. And we still need you for our bargain, live for a few more days will you?”

Kamaria huffed in annoyance and let it go, pushing Trevor out of her bubble and finishing her walk down the stairs by herself. It was going to be a long night from the looks of it, and she wished she had at _least_ a bottle of vodka to waste the time with.

 

***

                “Please, I don’t know _anything_ ,” Kam heard that sentence many times before, all from different people, different origins, different reasons. But this time she wasn’t enjoying it at all. She usually liked it when they begged, but this guy? He couldn’t make any mercy fun. She actually felt bad for him, which was saying a lot alongside the fact she tried not to feel anything. “I swear, please- I-I, don’t know who you’re _talking_ about.”

If this was Steve’s way of telling Kam not to fuck with him, it was working. With the way Trevor was batting at the guy with the wrench, she didn’t want to be on the other end. Kerimov was red from head-to-toe, with a busted kneecap, a missing tooth, and he even had his nipples burned by a car battery. Kamaria shivered at the thought, and even went as far to cover her breasts in an attempt to rid that thought.

 “I _swear_ I _don’t_ know anything!”

Another swing.

He sputtered saliva and drips of blood, running down his chin across his bare chest. He no longer looked human.

“I think he smokes too, please, that’s all I _know_.”

Steve was on the other side of the room issuing commands to Michael, who was clear across town with a sniper in his hands. It seemed for a split moment that Michael got the guy, but then Trevor swung again at Steve’s snap, and the guy blubbered over his words all over again.

“Please, please,” he slurred his words through the blood, tears across his face mixing with the red in slobbery puddles. “Please, that’s, that’s all I know.”

“C’mon,” Steve gestured closer to Trevor, “get him to tell us something we _don’t_ know.”

After a few more bloody moments, it seemed the worst was over. Kerimov let out hushed thank yous and Steve left with the words, “do what you want with him.” Kamaria registered those words as “kill him,” and nothing other than that. She knew Steve had asked her to be there for a reason.

Trevor placed the wrench back at the table, and Kam pulled out the handgun she always carried at the hem of her shorts and aimed it directly at Kerimov who quickly went back into panic. Before she could press the trigger, Trevor stepped in the way.

"What the _fuck_ are you doing crazy-cakes.”

“Steve wants him dead,” Kam slurred with her drunken haze, “he doesn’t want his precious FIB record to be tarnished with a tortured victim. If I don’t kill him, Steve will make sure _all_ of us are dead. Including Michael and that Dave guy. I don’t want to end up on some television show about failed drug lords.”

Trevor pulled the gun from her hands and she almost stood up and kicked him right where he would cry out in pain, but instead, her brain grew foggy and she held the railing for support. Her balance was slightly off it seemed, all those drinks had kicked in during the past few hours, and she was now in the complete stage of being drunk. There was no way in hell she was going to get in the car now, what would she do if she messed up the paint job?

 “Give me back my gun,” she finally managed to say. Kamaria stepped forward as Trevor seemed occupied in freeing Kerimov, but the only thing on her mind was her pistol.  “Give it to me asshole.”

“We’re not going to kill him crazy-cakes.”

Kerimov ushered praise and thanks once more, but that was all in the past now. Kamaria was pissed off, burning like a furnace, and was ready to kill Trevor for taking something that wasn’t his. She glared at him with an icy stare, her face inches away from his.

“Thanks for the answer to a question I never asked, now give me my fucking gun before I shove a wrench up your ass.”

“You get mouthy when you’re drunk huh?”

“I’m not fucking drunk.” She slurred again. The taste of tequila was present in her breath. She smelt like she lived in a bar, and to make matters worst, she could barely stand straight in her flat shoes. Kam knew she should have stopped at two at the beach, but with the shit that had been happening lately, six was much better sounding to her stupid brain.

Now she was regretting it, with a foggy brain, no balance, and a temper unlike any other.

"Give me my _fucking_ gun Trevor.”

He continued to ignore Kam as he untied Kerimov and pulled him over his shoulder. The victim winced in pain with pressure back on his leg. He seemed to be okay for just taking a beating of a lifetime, but then again, he probably had so much adrenaline pumping through his system he probably couldn’t tell the difference between a broken kneecap and a missing tooth. Just like how Kam couldn’t tell the difference between her fingers and toes at the moment.

She smiled sweetly, maybe buttering him up would do the trick. “Please?” She slapped her hands together and pouted. Kam leaned in a little more, close enough for Trevor to see the faint pink across her flushed cheeks and the strong smell of a lime bar escaping her cherry-flavored lips.

Kam hoped her charm wasn’t as off as she felt.

Instead, he bypassed her without a second glance. Kamaria stood shocked, stomping her foot in the ground as she chased after them to the cars. “TREVOR PHILLIPS!”

Her arm swung right at him, and he missed it in the nick of time. Instead, she fell right on her ass and stared bewildered at what just happened.

“Are you finished?” Trevor asked, staring from the driver’s seat. He seemed to be completely fine with the situation, or he was just messing with the woman who now was up on her feet and staring right at him with a glare so menacing it could have curdled dairy.

“Fuck you,” and Kam flipped him the bird before proceeding to her car.

But like all things involving Steve Haines, it seemed her situation had become a little more entangled with fuck ups. Her yellow rental was no longer in sight. Either she was so drunk she couldn’t see it, or it really was gone. Her eyes squinted around the alleyway as she tried to find at least any ruminant of her car, but there was nothing, nada, zilch. Just a few tire tracks left in the dust.

Kam screamed at the top of her lungs, her hands running through her hair as if he was about to tear it out in rage. A million emotions washed through her system almost all various degrees of anger and hatred. Her chest rising rapidly up and down, and before she knew it, she just collapsed on the ground in the dirt, her hands digging into the ground, rocks stuck in her long nails and chipping her red polish.

She was beyond feeling anything. Just red with Steve Haines written in letters in her mind. Kam would make the sky rain blood, and there wasn’t a person on earth that was going to stop her from doing it.

Fuck the consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm BACK!! Well sort of. Last week was my first week of college and it was a total MESS. I finally had time to sit down and write this past weekend and I ended up with this rushed POS. It was much longer, but I decided to split it into two because I'm a bitch and I don't give freebies. Just kidding. But don't worry, the next chapter will be up sooner than this one was and much more moments between Drunk!Kam and Trevor. Which is hilarious to me, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I love to write it! :D
> 
>  
> 
> ALSO!!! If you want to get more in touch with me outside AO3 and ask more questions, you can follow me off my Tumblr. It's called CatLadyInTraining-AO3 blog, I made it specifically so I can be in touch with you guys outside the AO3 fandom. I actually completely forgot to tell you lovely human beans on here but I told it everywhere else. I'm kind of stupid.
> 
>  
> 
> Also, what are we calling their shipping name? Kamvor? Kavor? Trevaria? I personally like Trevaria, but you do you boo. If you have other ideas stick them in the comments and I might just pick it!!
> 
>  
> 
> !!Competition!!
> 
> A few weeks ago I told you I will have a small little competition with my readers and now here are the details!!
> 
> So I've seen quite a few people on Tumblr, and here, asking about Kam's lineage and who she's related to and all that jazz. Since it's technically a secret for now, I thought it would be interesting to see who YOU think her family is. You can say it's a father, brother, uncle, cousin, whatever, and it can potentially be ANY character from ANY game. If you are RIGHT you get to be a character in this story!!! Okay, that sounds lame, but I thought it was cool when I wrote this out...so. We're sticking with it for now.
> 
> There can be multiple winners with different answers. But there are two people that Kamaria is either directly related to and indirectly related to. The clues are all in the chapters, you just have to pay attention to who she's speaking of/what I the writer am trying to imply. You only need to get one relative right, but it has to be close.
> 
> EXAMPLE:
> 
> You can say "Kamaria's uncle is Niko Bellic." or "Kam's brother is Claude,", or "Kam is indirectly related to Lance from vice."
> 
> It can really be anyone from anything. But I will not announce the winners until the truth comes out, so you have about 6-10 chapters of guessing, and you can guess as many times as you want.
> 
> HERE IS A *little* HINT!!
> 
> Kam has one half-brother and one sister. Her father is unknown, her mother is unknown, and she has had someone in her life that taught her the trade outside her brother. (More clues hidden in the chapters)
> 
> You can pick who you want to guess at (or guess at all of them if you want)!!
> 
> I thought this would be a fun way for the readers to interact with the story and it's characters, so please play along with us! If you win, you get to be an important character in this story!
> 
>  
> 
> Question of the Day:
> 
> Who is Callisto? And why are Callisto and Kam's (Kamaria's) names so weird?
> 
> Answer of the Day:
> 
> Well, Callisto is the cat's name, and it's named after the second-largest moon off Jupiter. I was actually going to originally name him Orion, but I figured Callisto would be something Kamaria would totally name her cat as. 
> 
> Kamaria's name is also derived from space-lore. Kamaria in French is said to be moon, so there is a small parallel between her and her cat. And it's also the reason why she is called "Luna" occasionally by her family. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading lovelies! As always leave comments and kudos if you enjoyed!!


	9. The Surprise

__

**KAMARIA had fought with every inch of her body, but alas, there she was pouting in the passenger seat of Trevor Phillips rusty-old Bodhi.** She couldn’t exactly recall how it occurred, or what the hell happened in-between the silent mumblings of her missing car, or the death threats swarming in her mind with Steve Haines, or just the thought she needed another hard drink to soothe her electric nerves. It only just occurred to Kamaria that she was now sitting in the truck in-between a bleeding victim and Trevor.

                Kerimov was barely holding on to his words as he continued to thank Trevor, but it seemed both men had completely different ideas on their current situations. But she didn’t care either way. Her head was throbbing with pains so intense she wanted to throw up. Kamaria was in no mood to listen to a whiney idiot too naive of his situation and another too stubborn on his own decisions to even consider the other side.

_That sounded oddly familiar._

“Would you please just shut the fuck up?” Kamaria asked, with her usual tone of irritation. Kerimov knew what was better for him, and he did exactly as he was told, but Trevor, he probably wasn’t familiar with the fact that Kamaria wouldn’t hesitate to kill him right there. All she wanted was to go back home, drink a little more, and maybe take a nap before she called Samuel for an update at Vice. Hell, she wanted to be dumped in an alley for the time being just to get away from the two of them.

“You’re quite something different when you’re drunk huh?” Trevor repeated his earlier question, but all Kam could do was rub her temples in an attempt to ease her pain.

“I’m not drunk asshole.”

Trevor laughed at her comment, almost belittling her answer, “I’ve been drinking far longer than you have, I know what it looks like when someone’s hard off their ass with liquor.”

“I figured,” Kam shot him a glare, “and let me guess, you’re also a low-life drug dealer escaping small-town cops huh? I know your type, Trevor. There are millions of you all across this country.”

“Damn, I didn’t know you were psychic too.”

“I’m going to shove my heel up your ass one of these days.”

Kerimov was beginning to grow uncomfortable, and the other two could tell, so Kam leaned against the side of the seat and waited until they arrived at the airport. She just wanted the day to be over. With her father, Steve, and now some poor sap that was drooling blood onto her shoulder? Kam fucking _hated_ Los Santos with the very pure, black, part of her soul, and seeing the airport only reminded her how much she truly missed Vice.

Vice City was glamourous with everything Kam was. There was nothing that stopped her. But in Los Santos? She could barely get the information on her business, let alone enjoy herself outside liquor and adrenaline-inducing activities that would most likely have her dead in a ditch.

“Why’d you let him live?” Kam asked the moment Kerimov wobbled to the terminal.

“I’m not a fucking animal.”

“That’s surprising.”

Kam scooted over to the passenger seat and leaned against the window, just waiting for Trevor to give some smart-ass reply or to restart the car, either way, she was too tired to care.

“What’s your deal with Steve? I mean, he’s an asshole, but I’m guessing there’s a bit of history, by the way, you two act.”

Kamaria rolled her eyes. Her brain was slowly trying to process what was happening around her, but she understood it to an extent. Steve Haines.

“Do you really want to know? Because it’s a long fucking story with no end.”

“I really want to hear it.”

Kam sighed, the breath of tequila creeping up on her as she thought of Steve. Steve Haines, the royal fuck up, the pain in the ass, the monkey who wore too small polos, he was every name in the book, from Asslicker to Zebra fucker.

“We used to be business partners in Vice,” Kam started, her eyes staring directly at the stars above, it was almost like she had never left Vice for a moment, with her feet in the sand, the beach bar roaring behind her, the salty ocean surrounding her as she gazed into the darkness above. She missed those nights by herself. Where she was in peace, there was no Steve, no FIB, no Trevor. “He was a new FIB agent, it hadn’t even been six months when I found him.”

She could feel Trevor peer at her, and back at the road, for once she was being serious, and he knew it.

“He was the worst agent I’ve ever met,” Kam smiled, “like, ultra, royal, _fuck-up_ , never had his paperwork right, always being yelled at, never being appreciated for how hard he tried, and I knew he just wanted to feel like he belonged. You know, like most arrogant assholes? He believed he belongs there, but they weren’t giving him a chance to prove himself.”

Trevor shook his head, “why would you need an agent anyway? Were you pitying him?”

“I guess you could call it that. It was around the time I got back into the Cartel business, I had just gotten home from Mexico, I was in deep shit with my family, turns out my brother-“ she tried to smile, but the hurt was evident across her usual joking face, “he had been shot not too long before that.”

“Fuck. That must have felt like shit.”

“I never really liked him, but he was family, you know? Anyway,” Kam turned back at Trevor, and for a moment she felt like she could really talk to him, spill all her secrets, just let it out. But she remembered she hardly knew him at all. “I needed an agent to get into the system for me, Steve was a good fit. He wanted a job where he could be recognized and I could give it to him. Plain and simple.”

“But it’s not.”

“Fuck no. He got greedy, wanted _money_ for not putting me in jail before. As long as I paid, I was free. But that’s still money being taken out of my account. You know how much I lost in these few years? Nearly a _billion_ just to Steve, and he still wants _more_. This is a business, not a charity. I still have employees to pay, bribes to sell to, and even buying the product from other people. I don’t just lounge in my house with billions of dollars under my mattress.”

“And that’s it?”

Kamaria’s face curled, “what do you mean “that’s it”?”

“You paid Steve to get information. Why didn’t you kill him then? From what I know you’re not the type to feel remorse when you drop bodies behind you.”

Trevor had a point, but Kam had her reasons, and those were staying with her. She had told Trevor enough. He didn’t need to know why she does what she does, how she gets her enemies, or in fact, how she does _anything_ at all. She blamed the alcohol in her system, which was still blurring her mind at the moment. Secrets only stay as secrets if no one else knows, and Trevor sure as hell didn’t need to know.

“I have my reasons,” and with that Kam stayed quiet.

It must have been some time before they arrived anywhere near the upper Los Santos apartments because by the time they had arrived, she had fallen asleep. Leaning against his truck would have freaked her out sober, but drunk off her ass? He was all in for it as long as she didn’t have to see herself asleep in it. Her arm was propped up on the window, her hand against her cheek. Kam’s cheeks were still flushed with a light red, and Trevor could see it from the porch light of the apartment building above.

It was fortunate enough Kam was asleep because if she was awake, she’d have thrown a fit for being brought to Trevor’s-sorta-apartment. Floyd, the actual owner, was most likely asleep in his bed, scared to think Trevor was coming back. While Wade, well, he did whatever Wade liked to do in the middle of the night. It seemed even in the sleepless city of Los Santos, Kamaria and Trevor were the only two out in the early mornings.

However, just because they were the only two, didn’t mean Trevor stayed quiet. The ongoing cursings muttered under breath woke Kamaria up, but she had soon realized that her body was also being hoisted up into someone’s arms delicately, like a fragile vase in a museum. She was pressed into a solid chest, warm with the scent of dust and motor oil, her head burrowing its way into the crook of someone’s neck. She shifted in his arms, grabbing onto the back of his shirt as if he’d drop her.

Heavy boots thudded across the concrete ground, up steps, pass the blaring light that dared Kam to open her eyes, but finally, they arrived in a little apartment that was _not_ Kam’s. It smelt different, with what could only be mint diffusers and the faint smell of chemical meth. Two completely different things.

For a moment, Kam feared for the worst as she felt the cushions of a couch underneath her. Passed out, alone, and even if she dared not to admit it, _drunk_ , it was the perfect recipe for absolute disaster. The gun she kept in her holster was close to her fingertips, one wrong move, and he’d be on the floor in a pool of blood—or so she hoped. She was just waiting for that moment, but she dared to not open her eyes in case she needed a few seconds of the attack.

She waited for something, a belt to be unbuckled, a sinister laughter, a barrel pressed to her head, but nothing of that sort happened. Instead, the warm, soft fabric of a blanket fell on her shoulder, the fur giving warmth to the goosebumps lining her skin.

An immediate breath of relief escaped her lips, and her fingers fell from the gun. Kamaria Leons would have _never_ admitted to feeling guilty, for she sure as hell felt something there. She assumed, and just like always, it was never true. Trevor wasn’t that type of person, was he? She didn’t know anything about him, a mystery, a shadow, a figure Kam wanted to understand. But there were some things that even the evilest men could never do, and she hoped Trevor had some morality to him.

But before she could comprehend the whirling thoughts in her mind, a brush of skin across her forehead caused a rush to run through her, either a hand, lips, an arm, she couldn’t place what it was, but the thuds of a man crept back through the apartment and into the bedroom across the hall.

The door clicked shut, and Kam finally took a moment to process what had just happened. The room was spinning, and this time it wasn’t from the fading alcohol, it was something Kam couldn’t quite place. And through it all, Kamaria thought, perhaps, maybe they needed a Trevor after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When you say you're going to update more and you leave for more than a month. *Inside frown*
> 
> I am SO sorry everyone, I never thought college would be like this. We just had midterms and I felt like a whole piano had been lifted off my shoulders this weekend. Anyway, enough with the boobing, I'm back for good this time guys, and this time I won't disappoint you!
> 
> I'm back in my writing bubble, I got the time, and nothing will stop me from doing anything. 
> 
> Also are you guys enjoying this book so far? Are you wanting more interactions between certain characters? Are you rooting for someone to do something??? I really like to hear from you, it makes me think I have friends *laugh but hides real pain*
> 
> Anyway, I hoped you enjoyed this chapter and I hope you forgive me for the long wait! I love you guys!!
> 
>  
> 
> Question of the day:  
> Does Kamaria have a faceclaim?
> 
> Answer of the day:  
> Yes! She actually does. I usually try and find an actress/actor to play the "parts" when I'm writing just to get an idea of what they look like, and sometimes how they act. Kamaria's personality is not taken from this actress, but her looks are what I wanted when writing this book. I choose Eva Longoria to "play" Kam, she's absolutely stunning and she has this aura that says "listen to me", which is something that Kamaria needed to have in her part. Anyway, go search her up and you might get another idea on how Kam is envisioned in my head! Another actress would be Meghan Ory. She is also an amazing woman who is beautiful, and she has a jawline that I expected Kamaria to have. *laughs*, anyway, see you in the next chapter!


	10. The Sister

                **THE next morning Kamaria had already drowned down six cups of coffee, two bottles of beer, and what she _hoped_ was tap water from the sink. ** After a rather weird night of sleep, and an even weirder morning, she had somehow managed to return to her own apartment (which was only a few blocks north), took a shower, dressed in better clothes, called Samuel, and still came back before Wade’s breakfast announcement and Lester’s voicemail left on her cell phone.

 

                _Kamaria, are the deal is still active so we have a job we want you to be a part of. Meet me at the old factory at two, Trevor should know where it is._

                Short and sweet, just how she liked it. But that also meant she had to stay in contact with Trevor Phillips for a little bit longer than necessary. After last night, whatever had happened, she was still thinking about that touch. She had never felt something so exhilarating, so thrilling, it almost felt like she had begun a game of cat and mouse with the cops like blood was left on her hands, but it was completely different at the same time. There was no violence in it, just a caring touch—something she never quite experienced before.

                She grimaced at the thought, she was obviously overthinking it. The touch? It was nothing but his arm grazing her skin, nothing more, nothing less.

                So why was Kamaria still stuck on it?

                Samuel had given her a few minutes of freedom that morning from over thinking it, but it was only for a few moments.

 

                _“Are you still missing Vice City?” Samuel asked, his Cuban accent barely peeking through anymore, The last time he was in Cuba was roughly when he was twelve, but there was still a tinge of those Cuban roots arising in his words. “You know it would be awhile for you could be back right? You killed a FIB agent. If that Steve Ass ever found out, you know he’d track you down and make you pay.”_

_Kamaria stifled a laugh. Samuel still didn’t know, which was good, but it also had created a small rift between them. Samuel was her best friend if she could call him that, she confided as much as possible to that man, they had even dated when they first met. Kamaria had never loved Sam, but hell, they knew everything about each other and holding back that small information was killing her just a little bit._

_“I know,” Kam muttered in the phone, her finger grazing across her freshly shaven legs. “But it’s home you know? Los Santos is fucking crazy,” now she was telling the truth, “and the people here? Even fucking crazier. The only good person I have seen is Madrazo, but he’d still batshit crazy, both him and his wife.”_

_“You don’t think you’re fucking crazy?”_

_“I never said I **wasn’t** crazy.”_

_Samuel laughed on the other end, “good to know Los Santos hasn’t completely changed you. But the Columbians are starting to think, well since you’ve been gone, that your company is beginning to fail.”_

_Kam clenched her phone, “it’s not. Right?” Her voice was tense, as clear and sharp like glass. “You better not be fucking up Sam.”_

_“Nothing is wrong,” he reassured her, “trust me. It’s just that they think you’ve been occupied with other things to be invested with your company. They are even saying you’ve been hanging with the FIB again, but that’s not true.”_

_“Of course not. After Steve, I vowed I’d never do it again.”_

_“I hope so.”_

_“I promise.”_

Kamaria took another sip of her third bottle of beer, watching the sun rise above the buildings and into the sky. The bitter taste washed away her wild thoughts, she was beginning to get stressed with everything, something she never thought she’d get. She was usually carefree, able to do what she wanted, but it seemed so far that life was far away it seemed. Now she worried over her company day and night, never had the right amount of sleep, and to top it all off, she now was worried about Trevor Phillips. Out of all the people in the world to be thinking about, the meth-head, high-tempered, gun-slinging son-of-a-bitch was at the prime top of her list. _How fucking unfortunate._

                “You’re still here?” Trevor’s voice filled the room, _speaking of the devil_. Kamaria turned from the open window, pushed down her sunglasses, and gave one of her signature smirks.

                “Sadly I am, Lester called, said we have a pretty important _meeting_ today.” She drank the last few drops of her beer, “he said you knew where it was.” The last swig caused her to shutter, she was never a store-bought beer person, but hell, she was drinking, and that was all that mattered at that moment. As long as she was in a buzzed-induced state, there was no worry in her brain.

                _What an alcoholic thing to do._

                Trevor did the same thing apparently, because the moment he finished buckling up his belt when he came out of the bedroom, he went straight to the fridge for an ice-cold beer.

Of course, _he’d_ like something like that.

The Vice City girl wasn’t afraid to say she was a bit of a snob, she _liked_ the finer things in life. The better cars, the better food, the better clothes. She liked to imagine she was doing her life a favor by paying for the better things right then and there because when it came down to it, she wasn’t going to be able to get any of that in Hell. So she spent her riches wallowing in all the things she thought she never had.

Before either of them could say something about the other, Wade popped through the bathroom door, a grin plastered to his face. At first, it seemed he was confused to still see Kamaria sitting on the couch, but he became more confused at the sight of Trevor, who was staring intently at Kamaria from across the room.

 

****

**_“POPS?” Kamaria kept her eyes staring straight, not daring to remove them from the twinkling stars above._ ** _It was completely dark that night, minus the moon’s sunlight shining down on the sandy beaches. The ocean’s waves were crashing the rocky cliffs below, a small summer breeze flowing through Kam’s dark hair, and the silent shared between the two wanderers of the night. “Why here?”_

_A young Kamaria had curled herself in the blankets, huddling in the back of the old pick-up truck to shield herself from the chills. From where she sat she could see her father in the sand, his feet buried in clams and shells, his jacket on a hill she had built earlier that day, and his usual pristine shirt which was always crisp and free of stains, was now covered in salt water and sticky pieces of sand._

_Elias Leons had been retesting the telescope's view, turning it sideways, up and down, rotating it until he found a spot that matched his expectations. Kamaria could see the wrinkles of his forehead creasing more in concentration, his lips puckered, an expression of utter confusion as he played with the contraption in his hands. He was a well-built man, of usual athletic build, he had high cheekbones prominent with his old age, a world of amazement in his brown eyes, and a sense of adventure that allured the innocence of a child._

_“Alright,” Elias said the moment he stopped touching the telescope, “looks like we found it.”_

_Kamaria shuffled out of the truck, a large blanket overlapping her small form. Kam had always been short for her age, and the blanket did nothing to help the shivering child. As she dragged herself to her father, a glittering smile peeking from his face, Kam turned to the opening of the viewer._

_“What is it supposed to be?” she asked, still gazing into it with determination. Her innocent eyes were focused on the beaming orb, “is it another moon?”_

_Elias smiled, “bright girl. As you are Kamaria, that is Callisto. Both moons in the solar system, neat huh?”_

_Kam nodded, a smile just as bright curling on her face, her lost teeth prominent as her smile grew wider._

_But before Kam could say anything, her father gestured her to sit in the sand, and he began his tale, “Did you know there was a story as to why we named you moon? You mother always told a story of two ancient beings whenever we were together and the moon was out. You see, the moon goddess travels with the god of the sun, taking his place every night so he could rest,” he smiled as he tickled her side, “or party if he saw it fit. The moon watches over us to protect us, she’s a passionate woman, who thrives on the lives of others, protects those she deems worthy,  and she took many friends and lovers at her side, or what she desired at the time. She loves all those she came in contact, even if she never knew it at first.”_

_“That’s a dumb story,” Kam uttered as she shivered, “mom said she never like stories, not like you at least. I don’t believe it.”_

_Elias laughed, “call it what you want, but I liked to remember her like that.”_

_“She always tried to forget you.”_

_And that night went from grand, to sour. But Elias still kept a smile, and as Kam stared again, she could see him mouth words, and it took a long time before she guessed what he said._

**_I love you_ ** _._

**“GO deepthroat a cactus fucktard,** ” **Kam yelled from the passenger’s side window, her eyes rolling in the back of her head, her fingers rubbing her temples.** The unfortunate fool that ran in front of Trevor’s truck was now rolling on the road in pain, blood oozing from his forehead, moaning as he held his gut, but Kam simply gestured Trevor to continue driving across the red light and right into the old factory Lester claimed was his.

She could see both Michael and Franklin’s vehicles parked, but the yelling upstairs was a different matter. She had never heard Lester raise his voice like he was right then, but it seemed pretty bad, because from the look Trevor gave, Kam should have taken it as a sign.

Trevor and Kam let themselves in, but the yelling only got louder. Lester, and a woman, and Kam’s face grew white. She recognized it, a voice from the past, someone she _never_ thought she’d hear again, not in a million years.

Kam crept up the stairs, minimizing as much noise as possible. Her heeled boots weren’t really helping, but above the yelling, it was almost as they weren’t there at all.

The office was a wreck. Papers were strewn across the floor, Michael and Franklin watching the events unfolding, the dark-blond woman screaming her head off. She hadn’t changed a bit. From the strawberry-red lipstick, the thick waves of sandy hair, eyes the color of her caramel-toned skin.

“Rosa?” Kam muttered under her breath, still shaking at the sight. Rosaline Leons had been out of Kam’s life as long as possible, claiming her business was the sole reason she never visited. Kam never asked where the fuck she was or what she had been up to, but their ties were cut the moment Kam went back in the business. No calls, no letters, nothing. Just the thought that maybe the other was dead in a ditch somewhere.

“What are you doing here?” Kam asked. Her eyes were focused on the other woman, but everything felt surreal.

Rosaline’s hands clapped together in glee, something she did quite often as a child. “Moony!” She exclaimed with open arms.

Kamaria cringed, she _hated_ that nickname with a passion. So what if her name meant moon? That didn’t mean she needed to be called a dog’s name. She had told Rosaline countless times not to call her that, but she knew, in that dark heart of hers, that Rosa did it on purpose to get on Kam’s nerves. No matter how many people Kam had killed, how many teeth she pulled from cops, how many kneecaps shattered to get information, Rosaline still treated her like the little sister she was.

Trevor snickered, “moony?”

Kam’s face grew a light shade of red before she turned to him, “if you call me that, I swear to fucking _god_ I will make you suffer like no one else before.”

“It’s been so long since we last saw each other,” Rosaline remarked grabbing Kam’s arm and pulling it to her, “you even lost all that weight! Good for you.”

“What do you want _Rosaline_?” Those words spilled like acid from Kam’s tongue, and Rosa was obviously taken back. It seemed she had overstayed her welcome, but what Kam wanted to know, was how Rosa got there in the first place.

                “Oh, Kam, I have some news for you.” And Rosaline pulled her back down the stairs, through the doors, and right outside.

                The tunnel underneath the bridge hid Rosaline’s small, blue sedan that looked like it had a few scratches to the bumper. If Kam had taken notice of that car before, she might have not gone inside the first place. Rosaline was a _bit_ too much. Too good was the words Kam was searching for. They usually said the older daughter was more responsible and prone to be better, but in Kam’s eyes, that wasn’t really worth bragging over.

                Sure Rosaline had been out of the criminal business since they were teens, but she was stuck with student loans, car payments, the fucking things soccer moms were prone to do. For god’s sake, she even had a small suburban house in the fucking country where she could raise her kids.

Two complete opposites indeed.

                “You never answered my questions, Rosaline,” Kam said, removing her arm from her sister’s grasp. Her skin had a small pink mark from where she had gripped too tight, but that was the least of her worries. “Why are you here? In fact, how’d you even find me?”

                Rosaline shrugged it off, “Samuel told me where you were. I just happened to still know how to track your second phone. That Lester man keeps it in his back pocket.”

                “You’re a fucking bitch.”

                “What I want to know is how Sam can’t find your locations. You’re so predictable.”

                “What do you _want_?”

                Kamaria could see the boys ushering to the window above. _How nosey_.

                “You don’t pick up your phone, Kam. Did Sam even tell you?”

                “Tell me what? I talked to him this morning.”

                Rosa’s eyes lighted in surprise, the caramel tones shining in the sun. Rosaline did a little laugh but soon shut her mouth just as fast. “You’re kidding, right? Isn’t he in charge of your whole thing right now? Wouldn’t he tell you?”

                “ _TELL ME WHAT?_ ”

               

               

               

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The magical sister that is Rosaline. She's one of my favorite side characters honestly and you will definitely be seeing more of her and why she's there in the first place.
> 
> Anyway, I hoped you enjoyed! Now I am off to bed because I have three tests tomorrow.
> 
>  
> 
> Question of the Day:
> 
> Does Kamaria have any scars/body modifications?
> 
>  
> 
> Answer of the Day:
> 
> Yes! She does, she actually has quite a few scars. she has one in the back of her head, one running up her thigh, and another on the bottom of her foot, plus tons of chicken pox scars. You'll understand how she got them in the first place later in the story. Now on body modifications: she has pierced ears, one on the top of her ear, the normal ear piercings, and the double one right above that one, Kam also has tattoos, but like the scars, you'll see those later in certain scenes... ;)
> 
> Good night ya'll!


	11. The Ports

**KAMARIA had never been so angry.**

The past thirty minutes were riddled with fearful hair pulling, fingernails to the face, broken glass, shattered _window shields_ , a few bruises from the insanely large ring she always wore on her middle finger, everything that had come to contact with Kam seemed to be breaking apart just from her glare alone, but that didn’t mean she purposely tried to break it apart with her bare fists. Rosaline had barely escaped from her sister’s wrath moments ago and it was clear she was going to stay a good thirty feet away at all times in the future.

Trevor was now really seeing Kam for the pissed-off cartel boss she was known for, the woman that caused fear, anxiety, and all-around problems. If he wasn’t so focused on holding her back, he would have remarked on how scary she seemed to be getting. There were no sarcastic remarks, no hidden joy, just pure _rage_ , and Rosaline’s fearful eyes were telling the whole story—Kamaria Leons had never been so angry.

 “YOU MEAN TO TELL ME IT’S ALL FUCKING GONE?” Kam screamed at the top of her lungs, trying to pry from both Trevor’s and Franklin’s arms. Both men somehow pried the lunatic woman off her sister, smashing her against the brick wall. She may have been shorter than average but Kamaria had been taught how to use every ounce of her being in situations like this, and the struggling of the bank robbers was telling her she was indeed fighting back. “ALL OF IT? EVERY FUCKING PIECE? I'M GOING TO TEAR YOUR FUCKING HEAD OFF!”

Michael kept his spot in between the girls, confused, but surely trying to understand the chaotic outburst happening in front of him. After Rosaline gave a brief introduction and left with Kam, he had figured the two girls would be leaving just as soon as they arrived. But Kam’s raising voice outside the window was odd, and they had watched most of it unfold right in front of them.

               

                **_“TELL ME WHAT_** _?” Kamaria asked again, her voice littered with agitation and curiosity. Rosaline recognized that voice immediately, and she only heard it when Kam was in the process of getting information. Dad had used that same voice when they were kids but Kam took it two steps too far._

_It was how she got the name spider after all. The black widow, the recluse, the wandering spider, they all meant the same thing: death, and it seemed Rosaline was the little fly that got stuck in her web that time._

_“Rosaline,” Kam snapped, her fingers still in her face, “have you gone deaf since the last time I saw you? What the fuck are you needing to tell me?”_

_She stuttered, “Samuel never mentioned it? The fire?”_

_“Fire?”_

_Oh, how unfortunate Rosaline was to deliver the news._

_“Your new port? The one where you used to have dad’s yacht, it’s completely ruined. The ship exploded last night. Everything is in the water. Sam said they tried to save your stuff, but nothing could be saved.”_

_Kam was silent for once. The information she just received was still processing in her brain. Dad’s yacht?_

_Then it hit her, just like Kam’s fist did to Rosaline’s nose._

_EIGHT HUNDRED **MILLION** DOLLARS._ That number was swirling in her brain. All that product was still on that ship ready to distribute across the world. Now it seemed all of it was either in the ocean or burning at the ports as they fought clear across the country. Nearly everything she had in the company was on the ship, yacht, whatever the fuck it is, but now it was all gone, and Kam’s blood pressure rose every second she thought of it.

“I’M GOING TO FUCKING STANGLE YOU!” Kam yelled again, clawing at her captives arm to get free. Her anger wasn’t directed at Rosaline, but she seemed to be the closest to wrap her fingers around her neck and strangle the life out of her. To watch the blood flow stop, her face turning a sickening blue. She needed something to release her anger. _Anything_ seemed good. She even thought to burst in the FIB with a machine gun was a good idea, but luckily, she was strapped to a wall by two men.

Rosaline held her arms out in defense the moment it looked like Kam was going to escape. Her nose had finally stopped bleeding, but the swelling near her eye was beginning to throb, and of course, the small scratches from a broken bottle was still stinging. She should have deemed herself lucky that Kam wasn’t carrying a concealed weapon, or just figured she was so angry she forgot it momentarily.

Now she was finally seeing what Miles was talking about. That fear in her system, that’s what Kam was good at.

“I thought Sam had told you!” Rosaline remarked, stepping back another step as Kam lunged forward. “Aren’t you two super close? Tell each other shit type friends? For god’s sake, I thought he’d at least _mention_ something was wrong.”

Kam took in a deep breath, she was on the verge of a heart attack with the way shit was going down. First those damn FIB agents, Steve, and now this? It seemed moving to Los Santos was the biggest fucking mistake that she could have made. She wasn’t even aware of what was happening in her _own_ company.

What else was going on under her nose?

Were Michael and Trevor fucking each other on the side too?

How many more surprises were going to pop out of nowhere?

Was she going to find herself shot in the near future? God, for once she wanted someone to point a gun at her and shoot her fucking brains out. She had every reason to think there was something else going on.

Kam bit her bottom lip so hard she could feel the skin cracking under her teeth, her own nails dug into her palms creating little crescent moons filling with blood, she had to divert her rage to somewhere else or she was going to burst and kill every damn person in the city.

Samuel was the only person she could trust, but even that felt a little wary. What had happened?

               

                _Kamaria had taken a long day off involving potent liquor and sly men. Her newly purchased bar was now empty, and the only person in there was her with all the booze the last owner left. She liked the low humming of “the Greatest Hits of the Seventies” playing in the background, the rhythm of the clock on her watch ticking by, or even just the silence period. Being twenty-two had a lot of perks, but she liked the things every other drunk-induced young adult did, but even then that got a little bit too much to handle occasionally._

_Her uncle had taken his leave from America not a few days ago, the bar now in-trusted to her. A smile crept on her face, imagining her brother’s face when she’d tell him—whenever that would be. Regardless, the entire thing was hers now, and there was nothing anyone could do about it._

_Taking another swig of tequila she let the burning blend wash down her throat. She could see herself through the mirror between the bottles. Her brown hair was thrashed from the night before, her brown eyes glowed a hazy red, and her usual vibrant skin was dried and washed out from the black lights overhead. Even her gold-in-crested dress was soaked in sins from the night before. Everything about Kamaria Leons was tired-looking and smelt of booze._

_The sound of a door slamming caused her thoughts to swirl. Had her uncle forgotten something important? Had her father returned to congratulate her? Or was it her damn sister to embark on how she needed to go back to North Vice and stay the hell away from the business?_

_Kamaria watched from the corner of her eye. A man sporting in all gray suit had found himself between the empty tables before the girl in the shadows finally caught his eye._

_“You’re not allowed in here,” Kam said immediately, “the bar isn’t open.”_

_The man cocked a smile, “I’m not here for the bar, you’re Kamaria correct? I was told to talk to someone in the Leons family._

_Kam slammed the bottle on the surface, the sounds of the glass chipping on the granite. “I’m not part of the **family** , you have the wrong person. If you need to talk to anyone in the Vercetti business, you speak to them personally. I’m not a messenger.”_

_“No,” he firmly replied, “I was told to speak to you. Tommy had sent me.”_

_“Why?”_

_Kam finally spun around and took notice of the man laid in front of her. Cuban—that could be distinguished fairly quickly. His accent was impeccable with foreign roots, but he had learned English quite well. His suit was a tad loose for his form, possibly an older family member's suit, but his eyes, so dark and soothing—that is what sold her._

_“I’m Samuel,” he held out his hand, calloused and strong, but Kam didn’t take it, she was still stuck on the small specks of gold hovering in his eyes. “Samuel Baign.”_

_Kam smiled, “I’m Kamaria, Kamaria Leons.”_

_And the rest was history. The two members would cause havoc through the streets of Vice in years to come, never giving, always taking. They ruled over Vice together._

**And there was nothing anyone could do about it.**

 

Kamaria had been staring at the traffic down below, the cars lit with color in the night as they bypassed the beach underpass. She had been sitting on a brand new moving box, still holding one of Calisto’s beaten up cat toys in her hand. Her new beach-front house had been undergoing Kamaria’s recent rage, but it seemed she had now been stuck in one of the many annoying stages of grief.

It had been a solid week since she was yelling outside the garment factor, but that didn’t make it any less painful. Her whole life was shattering right before her eyes and she couldn’t do anything about it. The worst feeling was knowing she was at utter defeat for the time being.

Eight hundred million dollars.

 Kamaria winced at it.

“You know thinking about it won’t solve anything,” Rosaline remarked, unpacking Kamaria’s long-held possession of a cat bowl she had received in Mexico, “you lost money. So what? You can’t do anything about it now.”

Kam tossed the toy across the room, letting the plastic ball smack against the wall. The bell tinkled as it rolled across the floor, and Calisto gladly took it as an act for playtime. All she could do was try and rub out the tension building in her head.

“Oh ya,” Kamaria rolled her eyes, “losing roughly seventy percent of my profits is _so_ easy to get over. You do know that I have to _pay_ the chumps that work for me? To pay off god damn contracts. I pay for your god damn _house, Rosaline_.”

She smirked, her broken nose still bruised and swollen. Even her eyes had been a bit damaged from whatever those doctors did to her, nonetheless, she wasn’t going to look the same after it healed, but of course, it was better than a crooked nose caused by an accidental-on-purpose- hit to the face from her sister.

 Rosaline tossed an empty box at Kam, “come on lazy, it’s time to finish whatever project you’re doing now. Besides, if you’re so upset about money, how come you bought a house right on the beach?” This must have taken a few pretty pennies to pay off.” She pointed to the ceiling above, “I mean a mosaic window in your porch area? Talk about extra.”

“I didn’t renovate it if that’s what you’re implying.”

“But you didn’t have to buy a house in Los Santos.”

 Kam tossed the box she was still holding to the floor, peeking about the newly furnished walls. The house did take her back a little, but it wasn’t because she _wanted_ to buy a house, it was because she _needed_ to get out of that dinky apartment in Vespucci.  Samuel knew where she was, he, of course, had made arrangements for her to stay there momentarily. Although the more she pestered on the subject of her now burned ports, the more she had decided there was something much deeper than just an accident. Had Steve somehow found them out? Burned them to give her lesson? Or was the one person she could trust, the one person who was in _charge_ of the ports, was he really the one who did it?

Samuel knew where she was at all times. Mostly to say to keep her safe, but thinking more into it had caused her skin to crawl. How was it to have someone know your location at all times?

 “Listen, Rosy,” God, she hadn’t used that name in so long. Kam was fourteen the last time she had given _anyone_ pet names, let alone using an old one. “You can’t tell Samuel I bought a house.”

 Rosaline stopped examining the weird vase she had picked up and turned to her sister, “so what, you’re holding secrets from each other now?”

“I can’t have him know I’m not in that apartment anymore. I need to sort things right now, _without_ anyone checking my locations every fucking minute. If I’m right about something, Samuel, or someone under Sam, might be working for someone other than me and I can’t let a double agent walk my grounds. The last time I let that slip I ended up moving to fucking Los Santos. I can’t make that mistake again.”

 “Understood, but how are you going to make him believe you’re still there? I mean, I’m catching a flight back home tomorrow morning you’re not going to have me here to help you.”

Kam smiled, a genuine smile, “I know you always have my back, but for my plan to work properly I need you to go back home. I have most everything sorted out. I just need a couple more hours.”

Rosaline smiled back, “good. As much as I hated seeing you do this, I know you can fix it.” She placed the vase on a pedestal and examined it, turning back to Kam who was now standing next to her, “but you’re still paying for the nose job payment right?”

And Kam punched her in the gut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been soooo avoiding writing these past few weeks. I've literally had to force myself down to write something because I was sad I was neglecting all you lovelies. But alas, here we are. I've been better with writing now that I actually started doing it, so maybe it won't take me a month to finish the next chapter. 
> 
> *Laughs*
> 
> MAN, I need a schedule.
> 
> aLSO, if you don't follow me on tumblr, I have just posted what would be the "official unofficial" cover of this book. If you don't know what it is_____----- Catladyintraining-AO3 blog
> 
> QUESTION OF THE DAY:  
> Is Kamaria obsessed with anything?
> 
> ANSWER OF THE DAY:  
> She's obsessed with cats, 100%. She secretly has a cat stuffed animal she named CATlisto that sits in her desk in Vice City. No one knows about it except Rosaline who still makes fun of her for it. She also has a cat sticker that reads "you can never have too many cats" on a notebook that holds all her records/ lies she's told. She likes to pretend to be a badass, but a badass that likes to cuddle her cat at three am, a badass that has her phone lockscreen as her cat, and a badass that usually looks up crap to buy for her cat like igloos shaped like sharks and shit. She even cries when she sees a cat too damn small or watches those videos where kind souls rescue cats (and all animals, but mostly cats).
> 
> So in short, she fucking loves cats.


	12. The Drinks

**“YOUR business runs on mine asshole, get with the fucking program,” Kamaria snapped her fingers as she paced about the room hearing the drained out voices on the other side of the line.** The Brazilian mob boss who usually resided in Liberty City was intent on not letting Kam get her way-which could either end up as one, he’d die before the week was over, or two, he would stop being a pussy and let Kam have her way. 

After a brutal fight over the phone with the Cubans before, she wasn’t exactly in the mood to hear out the Brazilians or the Italians right after, but after certain circumstances, she had no choice. However, it didn’t stop her from complaining all the way through them.

There were muffled noises across the line, probably because they had covered the phone with a shirt or coat but it didn’t mean they were at all quiet. Kam could still make out every word they said. Give or take.

“If you’re not going to comply,” Kam tapped her fingers together trying to make up a threat, an excuse, something that would show Kamaria was still at the top of the business. Luckily, the whole port burning was not in everyday conversation in the crime world,  _ yet _ , but Kam was trying to prevent that from happening in the first place. She had spoken to Samuel that morning with gritted teeth and rising high blood pressure, luckily she had somehow gone through the whole phone call without somehow popping a blood vessel or breaking someone’s arm. But that didn’t mean she was boiling on the inside with every passing word. She had only imagined running her fingers across his skinny neck and draining the blood from his face. 

“Okay Leons,” the man stopped Kam in all her terrifying thoughts, “we’ll go along with it. You better not fuck this up.”

The line went dead and Kam was glad. In fact, she was ecstatic. That was three down, but of course, it was never that easy. She had a long day in front of her with phone calls, meetings, and she still had to drive to Martin Madrazo’s house without blowing something up. If only she could attach a bomb to a car and watch it combust into flames in her driveway, but life was not that simple.

Covering up the fact she  _ didn’t  _ have product was one careful lie after another. She still tried to maintain the fact she was knee deep in cocaine, PCP, heroin, all the hard drugs every crime boss needed and wanted, but the fact that she didn’t have most of it anymore was stressing her out. If the Columbians had any idea she was failing she’d be an easier target to take down. 

Every country would be after her.

_ God.  _ That thought terrified her.

Kamaria took one more draw of whiskey that she kept on the table, letting the smoothness take away her whirling thoughts and fears. She used to complain about her life before, but now, she’d have done anything to go back the way it was.

Vice was easy, Vice was hers, Vice was  _ nice, _ as they said on the billboards across town. Sure the crime business had fallen just a little in the nineties, but that didn’t make it any less  _ hers _ . In Los Santos, where was her bar? Her beach that was soaked in youthful sins and drunken fun? Or even just her business alone. The small building in the bad side of town, with boards across its windows, a sign so faded you can’t even read it anymore, the boats outside it covered in sayings and her father’s yacht, still painted white with the beautiful gold trim and ribbons he had placed just for the girls. Where was all that in LS? Where was the piece she loved? Where was  _ she _ in the city?

What made Los Santos good?

With all the commotion in Kamaria’s head, she hadn’t heard the front door opening, the footsteps, and God forbid Rosaline’s honey-vanilla scented perfume—along with the smell of gasoline, cologne, oil, men’s musk, and the bitterness of chemicals wafting through the air—if it was anyone but those she knew personally, Kam might have been shot dead right there.

Kamaria held her fingers on her temple, trying to ease the growing tension running along with her pulsating head. She was naturally high-strung, but she hadn’t felt so much stress since the time she first took over after her “uncle”. 

“Since when did you start drinking hard liquor again?” Rosaline asked with her honeyed voice, picking up the biggest whiskey bottle in the center of the table, examining it as if she had never seen one previously. Her white smile hit Kam as she rolled her eyes, grabbing it back and placing it where she had first put it.

“How lovely to see you again,” Kam said, “I thought you said your plane left this morning.”

“It has been delayed until later tonight, apparently the snowstorm up in Canada got a little bit out of hand.”

Kamaria took another drink, “how unfortunate.” She took the last drink in her cup and noticed the three boys standing in the doorway, looking interested at all of Kam’s antiques and little paintings dashed across her walls.

“What’s the deal,” Kam asked, pointing her thumb at them, “didn’t I tell you  _ not _ to tell everyone?”

Rosaline simply took a seat, immediately taking notice of Kam’s scribbled in notes across the table. Times etched in the corners, names crossed out, a map drawn of inner Los Santos with a big red pen mark slashing through it all. Kamaria turned them over, demanding an answer from her sister.

“Oh them?” She waved them off, “they called me this morning saying they tried calling you to discuss something. Besides,” she looked devious, “you only said not to tell Samuel. Your bank-robbing friends might help you in the long run if you actually do what they ask you.”

Kam rolled her eyes again as she began redialing another number, “how’d they know you’re number anyway?”

“Lester,” Michael remarked, making Kam give a glare.

_ How fucking predictable _ .

That was another thing she hated. 

No. 

Fucking. 

Privacy. 

If only she could get away with a few explosions in his house, an “accidental” house fire, god, anything to get rid of Lester. But with her past records, the three boys in front of her would undoubtedly know it was her that caused it. 

Rosaline pestered about as she examined Kam’s house all over again. In the past twenty-four hours, Kamaria had already had the workers refurbish most of the house. There were expensive paintings, sculptures, a grand-piano sitting in the main room for entertainment. Kam hadn’t played in years, but it was pretty, so it was good enough for her.

The phone rang. Before Kamaria could stop it Rosaline happily pressed the answer button. Kam couldn’t stop herself from wanting to pummel her sister in the ground. 

“Leons.”

The Cubans.

_ Fantastic _ .

“What do you want now?” Kamaria refrained from sounding too upset and angry, but that was something Kam was still working on. “We already finished the deal.”

“We want a little more.”

“Fuck you.”

She could imagine the shorter, older gentleman turning red with anger. His peppered hair would clash against it all. Hell, she might have been pissing off his bodyguards too.

“If we’re sending you our cigars at a cheaper price we want more product.”

“I’m not doing that.”

Kamaria hung up the phone as she turned to Rosaline, a devilish smile appearing on her cheeks. If Rosy wasn’t her sister, she would have been dead years ago.

“Listen, I got work to do,” Kamaria said with such an icy tone, “if you  _ all _ don’t mind, could you leave so I can finish it?”

Rosaline shrugged, obviously not giving a damn. As much as people loved to say Kamaria looked like her father, she could have sworn Rosaline had his personality. People always wondered why Kamaria’s bad habits never rubbed off Rosaline when they were children, but then again, they could ask the same thing vise versa. 

Trevor, Franklin, and Michael all took a stance back into the dining room and Kam cocked a brow. 

“Okay, what the hell do you want?” 

Michael threw a package at her, but instead, it missed and slid against the glass table. Kam picked it up, heavy, packed filled with paper and photos as Kam spread them out. Some appeared to have tape still stuck to the backs, sharpie sprawled on hundreds of words and circles drawn on photos.

“Lester is planning the job,” Michael said as he approached her, “he asked me to bring you copies that way you know what’s going on.”

She pointed to all of them, “so sending messages is a three-person job?”

“We have a business to take of across town, we just need to drop these off beforehand.”

Kamaria nodded.

“Any date?” Michael grew confused before Kam gestured at the envelope.

“Not yet, but Lester said to keep your phone on, he’ll give us all a call when it’s ready.”

Kamaria couldn’t help but smile as she watched the boys trudge off.

 

**DRINKING IN a dirty bar was not Kamaria’s ideal plan when she finished with all the calls.** She thought she’d be drinking her expensive wines or finished off the bottle of whiskey before she would ever consider the idea of walking in a hick bar outside of town. Drinking the last sip of beer in the bottle, the bartender did as she was instructed as she kept them coming.

_ You’re drinking wheat tea _ . 

Kam chugged half of the next bottle as she kept her eyes on the tv ahead. It was the same bullcrap she always saw, murder, crooked politicians, a celebrity who became famous for literally nothing. Kamaria wondered if that’s why so many people snorted coke, to get away from the crappy thing everyone called reality. Well, either way, she didn’t care. Every bag she sold was money in her pocket to waste.

Her head still throbbed as she tried to rid the nastiness of all that happened that day. She had been online after line, yelling, getting yelled at, spouting death threats all day like Christmas. Kam was surely more than half of them were going to want her head on a silver platter, but from the looks of it, that was the worst thing. Everything seems oddly fine, or maybe it was just the large amounts of alcohol steaming in her system causing her thoughts to filter. She finished off the bottle, now turning to her brand new glass of cheap, strong, whiskey.

“You’re here alone?”

Kamaria turned quickly, seeing Trevor, clad in his usual grim attire, with a shit-eating grin on his face. He gladly took the empty bar seat next to her before Kam could even say a thing.

“I figured you’re the type of person to drink alone in their house, you were doing that this morning,” he continued, taking in Kam’s accumulation of shots and bottles strewn around her. How long had she been there? One, two hours and she had already mustered up six shots, three bottles of beer, and a large glass of whiskey half drank? Not to mention the two cherry flavored jello shots she was offered the moment she came in. She should have been more fucked up than she felt.

“I got sick of using all mine.” Kam finished her next drink, piling it with the others, “that bottle of whiskey is from 1862, expensive, and something I’m not going to get again in a long time.”

She signaled the bartender to refill her drink again, and Kam gave the asshole more of her cash as she chugged it down in one shot. She hadn’t felt a rush or anything yet, so maybe she was still a few more bottles from alcohol poisoning. 

“So you’re one of those finer-things girls huh? Where if it isn’t expensive why bother?”

“Fuck you,” she slammed the glass on the bar, turning to him who was still wearing that same smile. It seemed he enjoyed it when she was angry.

“Only if you join me,” he remarked, taking a long sip of the beer he had been holding. 

Kamaria rolled her eyes again. She seemed to be good at that. 

“No thanks, I don’t pick up boys from the bar.”

“So if I wasn’t in a bar, we’d totally get down to business?”

Kamaria couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol or maybe he had a hidden sense of humor because all she could do was laugh. Giggling away as she tried to finish off her drink. Trevor oddly reminded her of Samuel when they had first met. Irritating, annoying, any really. She seemed to work well with assholes, but thinking of the dark-haired cretin sent her veins pumping fire.

“What do you take me for?” She asked shoving the now empty glass with the other piles of trash she accumulated during her stay. She honestly wanted to know. Kamaria had, of course, cursed at him, killed one of their crew members, had them pay millions to pay off the damage of her pretty little cars. Now she had somehow been caught up in the bank robber’s world of heists, and she wondered whether they simply tolerated her for her money’s sake or, if like others in her life, simply enjoyed her crazy life of no fuck’s given.

“A source of money,” Trevor said nonchalantly. Well, Kamaria had her answer, whether she liked it or not.

A small smile crept along her face. She’d have done the same. A little murderous help and malicious intent for millions? Hell, she’d have done it for thousands. Probably a nice dinner if Kamaria cared for them in any other way but dollar signs.

“So. Vice?” Trevor finished his beer bottle, his whiskey-colored eyes burning with curiosity. “How’s that?”

Kamaria shrugged. How could she describe her home to someone who’s never been? “I guess,” she thought for a moment, “it’s like here, but less stench and more poverty.”

“Shit.”

Kamaria gazed down to see Trevor’s fingers running up her bare knee. It was soft, unlike the usual coarseness of calluses, she was used to. It was almost as if he was afraid to touch her--almost.

“Listen, crazy-cakes, I actually have something to ask you.” Trevor removed his hand as fast as he had planted it there. Kamaria felt a wave of hatred for the lost of warm feelings that had rushed to her core. “I have a small favor.”

“I’m not sleeping with you.”

“No,” Trevor suppresses a laugh erupting from his throat, “as grand as it would be to have you in bed, I have something else. I found out you have connections to China.”

“I have connections everywhere.”

“But I want China.”

Kamaria had finally turned towards Trevor, her legs crossed, her eyes staring intently at the older man. She could sense there was something he deeply wanted, and it wasn’t sexual either.

“I had a deal, with the Chinese, but those assholes bailed out on our deal last minute. I had an entire empire of drugs and weapons at the ready to sell.”

“That’s my problem, why?”

Trevor got real close, almost to the point where Kamaria could get a whiff of beer and the undoubtful smell of meth. She was surprised to see none of his teeth missing on his gums. She did, however, catch the numerous track marks up and down his arms. Some had looked quite fresh.

“You get me a date with those bastards, you help sell my stuff along with your, and you don’t have to pay me shit when this is all over. We split it, half and half.”

That idea triggered something giddy in her head. Money was nice. Weapons were also a huge sell point for most of her business partners. Sure her cocaine and heroin were top notches across the drug world, but weapons? That was going to bring a whole new world of business, members, and above all, money. She could just envision herself working with Trevor, but something was telling her no.

Kamaria Leons only worked with people she knew for years, and Trevor Phillips was nowhere near that scale. The fact she had agreed so suddenly to Michael and Lester was on the grounds of Steve Haines, not her business. Her Cartel was her baby, her job, her home, and she wasn’t going to let some brown-eyed, brown-haired man come waltzing into her life.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Think?” Trevor sounded a bit agitated, but that was only right. He had figured he could have gotten her to say at least a maybe. “C’ mon crazy cakes, don’t be like that.”

She shook her head no. “I don’t run with street-sellers.”

“A street-seller?”

Now it was Kamaria’s turn to speak. “I know you have a little business up in Sandy Shores. You’re a chef, your bunker of meth labs, probably a booming business to those hillbillies that live up in the desert, but I don’t run like that. You have game, Trevor, I respect that, but until you can prove to me you’re capable of running a business without killing your partners, then we’ll talk. Until then, our discussions will only be about whatever showboat Lester put on for us and Steve Haines.”

Trevor grabbed her wrist, not hard, but enough for her to get the attention he wanted. Kamaria felt a strong tension between the two of them as he inched closer, and it took all her nerves not to step back and punch him in the nose. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When it's been literally months since I last updated.
> 
> Oof.
> 
> Well, I finally got it done, I hoped you enjoyed it!
> 
>  
> 
> Question of the Day:
> 
> Why is Katalin always so angry? (Lmfao, this is the best question I received on Tumblr honestly, so thanks)
> 
>  
> 
> Answer of the Day:
> 
> Because she has a lot of problems she refuses to face head-on. If she stopped drinking for a little while she'd probably be a happier person because she could logically think for once.
> 
> Sorry, that was a real sarcastic answer.
> 
> I'm a little shit,  
> I still love you guys tho!

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment ya'll if you liked it. 
> 
> Thank you for reading my trash, I love you!!


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